King's Ascent
by Cybra
Summary: Part one of the "Journey of the King" trilogy. The adventure didn't begin on the Destiny Islands. Warning: 42 pages!


King's Ascent

By Cybra

**A/N:** This was _supposed_ to be a short little prequel fic that turned into what was _supposed_ to be a mildly-long (maybe twenty- to twenty-five-page) beginning to my "Journey of the King" trilogy. Strap yourself in for the long haul because this is a forty-two page _monster_ that if you don't read, the other two fics might not make sense. Also, there's some very mild slash hints in here but not enough to really put a formal warning. Enjoy.

**Special Thanks: **My dear friend and beta Vyse. Thanks for your honest opinion and being my guinea pig. I needed that extra set of eyes and outside opinion.

**Disclaimer:** _Kingdom Hearts_ is the brainchild of Square and the Walt Disney Company. _The Great Mouse Detective_ is the property of the Walt Disney Company, and the _Basil of Baker Street Mysteries_ book series it was based on is the property of the late Eve Titus. The original name of "Sherringford" for Basil's first name along with Myerricroft Basil belong to Mlle. Irene Relda. King Vincent and Queen Bridget for Mickey's parents are mine.

Long before Riku turned to Darkness, long before Sora received the Keyblade, King Mickey was still the heir to the throne of Disney Castle. Back then, the royals and the people they governed _did_ know about the other worlds and had the means of traveling to them: the gummi ships. However, these ships stayed mostly unused except for simple observation of other worlds, for laws kept interference in these other worlds to a minimum.

Yet Prince Mickey—or, as he preferred to be called, "Mickey"—dreamed of visiting these other worlds himself some day and seeing what sort of wonders they held. He had already started taking lessons on piloting the gummi ships and would be ready for his first real flight soon enough.

_"Please _let them tell me I can fly today," he begged quietly to himself.

"You? Fly today?" a mocking voice asked from behind Mickey, making the young prince stiffen. "I'd be surprised if they let you fly _ever!"_

"Hello, Mortimer." Mickey turned and somehow managed a smile on his face but he imagined it looked more like a grimace.

"Hiya, Mickey. Oh, excuse me, Your Majesty." Mickey swore Mortimer's grin widened as he winced. "Sorry, but I couldn't help overhearing. It struck me as funny."

"Why?" the shorter mouse asked, knowing as soon as he asked that he was going to regret asking.

"Because of your last flying test, that's why!" Mortimer laughed. "That was hilarious!"

Mickey growled, not wanting to remember the humiliating crash-landing in the maze a little over two months before. The school's gummi ships were different from the ships at the palace that he was able to practice with. During the test, he had been fighting with the gummi ship and he swore that he had been fighting even more than was necessary for simple lack of familiarity. Since Mortimer had flown just before him, it did not take too large a stretch of the imagination to suspect that Mortimer had tampered with the controls while the instructor's back was turned. But Mickey had no proof, just a wrecked ship.

"I've been practicing with Chip and Dale," the prince stated flatly. "They tell me I should be able to fly to another world soon."

Mortimer snorted. "Sure, sure. Good luck or something!"

The taller mouse slapped the shorter prince on the back, nearly knocking him to the floor. Mickey glared at Mortimer's retreating back, wishing he could punch Mortimer in the teeth, cast Fira on him, or commit some other pointless act of violence on the obnoxious one's person.

_'But is that the way for a prince to act?'_ the voice in his head that sounded annoyingly like his father asked.

Sighing, Mickey had to agree with the voice in his head. He _was _the prince and heir to the throne and should act accordingly. Besides, his father might suspend his flying priviledges if he acted on such violent impulses.

Then realizing that he had actually started _listening_ to voices in his head, Mickey raced to the castle.

* * *

The holding area for the gummi ships at the palace allowed them to be gently eased by the pilot into Interspace or, for simple practice, to be flown about the palace. Mickey had always used the palace exit. With hope, today would be the day he would use the world exit.

"Hey, Mickey!" the high-pitched voice of Chip greeted him as he trotted in the door.

The slightly lower-pitched voice of Dale chimed in, "Ready for your first flight to a different world?"

The young prince froze. Did he dare hope he had heard what he just thought he had heard? "Did you just say…?"

The two chipmunks grinned and nodded.

"You seem perfectly fine at flying to us. Don't know _what _happened on your test two months ago," Chip said.

Mickey muttered under his breath, "I can guess."

"We'll be going with you for this first flight for safety reasons. Standard procedure. After the first couple of flights, you can go on your own," Dale explained.

Nodding, Mickey instinctively moved towards the most basic of the gummi ships. While the other gummi ships were sleeker and better-looking, certainly more fit for someone of royalty to fly, the Basic Gummi had always been his favorite. It had a sort of "tried and true" feel to it. It was not the prettiest of the gummi ships nor the sleekest, but sleek and pretty did not matter in the space between worlds.

The two chipmunks followed him into the gummi ship and sat in a pair of co-pilot seats, strapping themselves in as he powered up the ship and began the systems check. While he knew the gummi ship would be in tip-top shape thanks to their care, it never hurt to check.

"Okay, exiting a world is a bit different from exiting the castle," Chip stated. "While there's really nothing to crash against _directly_ after leaving, you can sorta…well, it's like falling…which can make you sick to your stomach, and that can throw you off for when obstacles do come up."

"Is it that bad?" the prince asked nervously.

"Depends on how bad you mess up," Dale put in cheerfully. "That's why we're here your first few times: just in case you get in trouble. We'll be able to recover faster since we've seen it before."

Mickey gulped and took a deep breath. "Any special tricks?"

"Just ease it out until you get the feel for how it all works. Then you'll know exactly how fast you can go out of a world in case of trouble. Okay?" the chipmunk with the higher voice answered.

"Got it."

Following his two instructors' advice, the prince started the engines and eased the ship forward. The gummi ship obediently did as he ordered and approached the world exit.

"That's it…" Chip encouraged. "A little more…"

Perhaps it was due to the mixture of nervousness and excitement that he felt which caused Mickey's hand to twitch just enough to increase the throttle, shooting the ship through the world exit.

"Whoa!" the three occupants of the ship shouted.

As expected, there was that distinct drop, making Mickey feel as if he had left his stomach back at the Disney Castle. Gritting his teeth, he took his hand off the throttle and used both hands to pull the controls towards himself as the first obstacle—a meteor—seemed to appear from nowhere. Obediently, the ship veered upwards and seemingly out of harm's way.

Pulling around the meteor, Mickey activated the guns as the ship nearly collided with a set of flat panels. To his surprise, the panels yielded energy for the guns, shields, and engines. Before the next obstacle could leap out at the ship, his hand flew to the throttle, pulling it back to slow the engines.

As the prince panted heavily, the two chipmunks gaped.

Dale was the first to recover. "Wow! You're a natural at this!"

Chip carefully left his seat, unsteadily walked over to his brother, and hit him on the head.

* * *

From that point on, the flight went, mercifully, without incident. The trip actually became a bit monotonous after a while. Mickey secretly hoped that once he had visited a world once or twice he could "tag" it so he could use the warp drive to automatically bring him there. He enjoyed flying the gummi ship, but there was nothing really to see in the space between worlds.

"Which world do you like to see? Agrabah? Neverland? The Coliseum?" Chip suggested.

Mickey smiled, feeling a bit bold and knowing his father would murder him if he knew. "How about somewhere new?"

The two chipmunks stared.

"You have _got _to be kidding us," Chip said.

"I'm game!" Dale shouted.

Chip hit Dale on the head. "No, Stupid! The king would _kill_ us if we did something like that! Prince Mickey, there are plenty of safe _known_ worlds we can go to."

"And I'm sure there are plenty of safe _unknown_ worlds we can go to, too. Chip, we haven't seen any new worlds in years. Aren't you the least bit curious?" the prince asked, using the diplomacy skills his tutors at the castle had been teaching him in addition to the instruction he received in normal school.

"Well…yes…"

"I promise I'll be careful." Mickey held one hand over his heart and one hand in the air as if making a solemn oath. "Besides, nobody has to _know."_

"The computer will rat on us, and you know it."

_'Oh, right. I forgot about that.'_ The prince winced. "Well, how often do people use _this _gummi ship?"

"Just you," Chip admitted. "Everybody else likes the newer models."

"So who's going to look at the logs for the Basic Gummi?"

"Your father…"

"…who is normally too busy to do that sort of thing. And so is my mother. Please, Chip?" Mickey begged.

"Yeah, please, Chip?" Dale added in.

The black-nosed chipmunk sighed. "I go on the record for protesting."

"You're the best!" the prince cheered as he pulled out the chart of worlds to search for a world that had been marked as unexplored.

His large ears picked up Chip muttering to Dale, "Teenagers."

"Ah, c'mon, Chip. Let him have a little fun. Cooped up in the castle or school all day isn't good for a guy," Dale whispered back.

"But an unexplored world? Do you realize just how much _trouble_ we could get into if something happened to him?"

"I'm not stupid, Chip! But it's not like there are Heartless running around like in the legends. Jeez, get a grip!"

Pretending that he had not heard their conversation, Mickey chirped, "Found one! It's not too far away from Neverland either, so we can fly there and then do a quick warp jump in case something happens." He decided to ignore the way Chip sighed with relief. "It's marked here as possibly parallel."

"Neat!" Dale said, leaning over to look at the chart.

"Possibly parallel?" Now Chip was genuinely intrigued. "There have been theories of possible overlaps in worlds with minor differences, but I never thought we'd actually see one."

"Well, here's our chance!" Mickey grinned. _'Well, well, Chip. _Now _it seems like you don't mind the idea of bending the rules a little!'_

"We're nearly to Agrabah now, so we can do a warp jump to Neverland," Chip decided. "Then we can fly to this world of yours, Your Highness."

Mickey winced at the title. "Please just call me 'Mickey.'"

"Of course, Your Highness."

Mickey sighed.

* * *

Upon reaching the unexplored world, it _did _look surprisingly like the pictures of Neverland that Mickey had seen. While it was summer in his world, it was winter in this one. The clock tower, which Neverlanders called "Big Ben," chimed in the distance. Smoke constantly billowed from chimneys. Old-fashioned gas lamps still lit the streets. However, unlike Neverland, there was no flying ability among any of the natives.

And, as Mickey quickly learned, everything was absolutely _enormous._

He barely managed to stumble out of the way of a horse hoof that could easily have flattened him. The cab it pulled had wheels that must have been half the size of the unnecessarily large doors of the Disney Castle. The young prince hurriedly scrambled onto the sidewalk.

"Now I know how Chip and Dale feel," Mickey panted to himself. "The next time I see them walking around the castle, I'll ask if they want a lift somewhere."

He had been given a time limit by the chipmunks, both of whom had not been happy with his request for them to stay with the ship. But he had pointed out that it appeared as if there was little trouble to be found and that if he did find trouble, he had been trained in self-defense and could handle it himself or could simply call for help from the local authorities.

A scan of the local intelligent life had shown a surprising number of them were, in fact, mice. While Mickey was not exactly the same _type _of mouse as the local residents, he might be able to pass himself off as simply a different breed. The chipmunks, however, might have had a harder time blending in, so they had been forced to agree to stay behind until Mickey could see if there were other rodents who had formed civilization lest they be identified as outsiders.

So far, no one had paid much attention to the prince. This was fine, for Mickey only wanted to observe the area around him. There was so much to see.

He wandered around for a while before he reached an open area in the middle of the city.

"Looks like a good place to stop and call the chipmunks before Chip has a heart attack," Mickey muttered to himself. He glanced at a sign. "'Regent's Park.' So they have a king or queen."

As he stood there, someone slammed into him from behind, sending them both sprawling. Mickey yelped in surprise and pain as he hit the sidewalk and whoever had run into him landed on top of him.

"Terribly sorry! I slipped on an ice patch and lost my—Oh, bloody hell! Don't tell me I broke it!"

Mickey lifted himself up onto his hands and turned his head around to see a young tan mouse, taller than him by several inches (or should he be measuring in millimeters now?) but of the same age, hurriedly opening up a violin case and gently lifting up the instrument it contained to examine it. "It's not broken, is it?"

The other mouse plucked the strings. "Not even knocked out of tune." The E string fell flat as soon as he spoke, and the tan mouse gave a wry smile. "Spoke too soon." Deciding to tune the instrument later, the tan mouse set the instrument back in its case. "Terribly sorry for the inconvenience."

"Don't worry about it. I wasn't really paying attention and was in the way." Mickey smiled at the taller mouse as both of them rose carefully to their feet. "However, I wouldn't mind knowing the name of the person who knocked me down."

"That sounds reasonable. My name is Basil, Sherringford Basil. And I am addressing…?"

"Mickey."

Basil raised a curious eyebrow. "No last name?"

"Just Mickey," the prince affirmed, secretly sweating.

"Interesting. Your name and accent sounds almost American, yet you seem almost—" The other mouse stopped and pricked his ears suddenly.

"What is—?"

"Hush!"

Doing as he was told, the prince stood in silence and heard a soft _crunch_ of snow. "What is it?"

"It's too large for another mouse…and too small for a dog. I'd say it's a cat. We both should get moving."

Mickey blinked. When he last checked, cats fell into two categories: They had evolved intelligence and were fellow citizens or of the type that had not and were creatures smaller than him that people kept as household pets. In fact, a friend of his from school owned one. Yet this strange mouse seemed to think of cats as a threat.

Basil had started to leave before he realized that his acquaintance had not moved an inch. "Are you mad?! We need to go _now!"_

"What's wrong with a—"

**_"Meow!"_**

"—cat?!"

The behemoth of a feline that had managed to approach the two mice terrified the prince into freezing. Fortunately, the native inhabitant of this bizarre world was used to such things so the tan mouse had the sense to grab him by the wrist and start running.

"And Myerricroft says _I'm _a lunatic! You act as if you've never seen a cat before!" Basil panted as he ran, still grasping Mickey's wrist.

By now, Mickey was running as well, very aware that the cat was not about to let its prey get away. "You'd be surprised!"

The three participants in the chase slipped and slid over ice and snow, trying their best to either catch a meal or avoid being eaten. However, the mice finally found themselves cornered.

"Well, this was certainly fun. Too bad we won't be able to do it again," Basil sarcastically commented.

A beep from Mickey's pocket alerted him to a communication from the chipmunks. Obviously, Chip was not happy with his tardiness.

"What is that?" the tan mouse demanded.

"How we're getting out of this mess!" _'I am going to be in _**so **_much trouble. I'm actually breaking the law. But I got him into this mess, so, technically, I'm already interfering in his life.'_ "No matter what happens, just go with it, okay?"

"'Go with it?' Go with _what?"_

Mickey pulled out the communication device. "Chip, Dale, I need a fast pick-up! Pull me back to the ship, pronto!"

"I knew this was a bad idea!" Chip whined.

"What the devil?!" Basil yelped, releasing Mickey's wrist for the first time since the chase had begun.

Mickey grabbed onto Basil's wrist. "It's okay. It's going to be a little tingle, and then you'll be fine…"

Even as he said this, Mickey felt the tingle as the cat pounced. The tan mouse's cry of surprise was cut off as both were transported back to the ship.[1]

"Prince Mickey, you're all—What on earth?!" the squeaky voice of Chip shrieked.

The prince grinned sheepishly as Basil gaped first around the ship before snapping his head around to stare at Mickey.

After opening and closing his mouth a few times, the tan mouse finally asked, "'Just Mickey,' is it?"

"Okay, so I fibbed a little…"

"Oh, just a _little._ I knew you were some sort of nobility, but an actual _prince_ was beyond my best deduction. Now, I have a good question: **Where are we?!"**

Chip ignored their unexpected guest as he looked sternly at the prince. "Your Highness, I must protest! This is clearly breaking the law!"

"I broke the law by accident when I nearly got him killed! What was I supposed to do: get transported back to the ship and leave him to die?" Mickey demanded, crossing his arms. "Chip, it was my fault that we got cornered by that _big _cat."

The black-nosed chipmunk grumbled unhappily to himself while his red-nosed brother shifted nervously.

"As for where we are, Basil, we're on the gummi ship Chip, Dale, and I used to get here." Mickey paused for a second. "But how did you know I was at least nobility?"

"Your name baffled me, I admit. As I had been saying before that blasted cat interrupted, your name and accent sounded American, but the way you _talked_ sounded like one of the higher born. Also, the way you move gives you away. Whether you realize it or not, you carry yourself like someone high-born. And don't wince because, like it or not, the people you live around imprint their mannerisms on you," Basil explained. As Mickey stared in absolute awe of that, the tan mouse seemed to come to a conclusion. He whispered, almost in awe, "This ship is meant to fly to other worlds, isn't it?"

The three from Disney Castle stared.

Mickey nodded. "How did you know?"

Basil did not answer his question at first. Instead, he smiled broadly, closed his eyes, and yelled, "Yes! I _was_ correct! For once, you were wrong, my dear brother Myerricroft!" He re-opened his eyes and rubbed his hands together with glee. "The technology, for one, is far too advanced to be from our world. Now, this _could _mean that you are from the future using a time machine like in H.G. Wells's book. However, you, Mickey, are of a breed of mouse completely _unknown_ to our world! I _knew _something was off about you! It wasn't until just now that I realized it. Besides, why _else _would you have never recognized the threat of a cat?"

The black-furred mouse grinned. "You seemed pretty convinced I was a lunatic a while ago."

"Unless I ended up in Wonderland or in an asylum myself, it seems as if this place is as real as you or I. Therefore, I believe your refusal at first to run is understandable. Ludicrous but understandable."

"Thank you," Mickey dryly commented.

Chip snapped, hopping up on a console in order to look the younger Basil in the eye, "You can't talk to the prince like that!"

"No, it's okay, Chip! Don't worry about it!" Mickey said, holding up his hands and waving off the chipmunk.

In truth, he thought it was more than okay that Basil chose to speak to him like that. He thought it was wonderful. It seemed as though Basil had little use for titles and all that went along with them, so he tended to be a bit less than enthusiastic when it came to following the standard "bowing and scraping" that was required of loyal subjects or the common-born to a visiting royal. To be talked to as if he were normal delighted Mickey.

"But, Your Highness!"

"It's okay. Trust me." Mickey looked back at Basil. "I'm really sorry about the cat. I should have been more careful."

"You should have, but apology still accepted." Basil smiled. "Maybe next time you would like someone to actually show you around rather than just waiting to get yourself killed?"

Mickey's eyes lit up with joy at the idea.

"No, no, _no!_ We are _not_ coming back here! Uh uh!" Chip crossed his arms.

"Oh, no…" Mickey moaned.

"You nearly got yourself killed today on a supposedly harmless world! On the next trip, we are going to a nice, safe, _known_ world. And nobody will ever hear about this!"

"But now that you've been here, isn't this technically a known world?" Basil inquired innocently, throwing Mickey a wink.

The two chipmunks stared at the two mice.

"Um, Chip?" Dale said, slowly. "You know…he's right…"

"And since I know about you all and _all _about this world, I'm sure that I could help you avoid future…accidents," Basil added.

"I wouldn't be all by myself and getting into trouble," Mickey put in.

Chip glared at the two mice, knowing he was losing the argument. Every argument he could possibly have come up with they had countered thus far. "What about the law?"

"About non-interference? We've already passed the point of no return haven't we?" the prince answered with a shrug. "I did that the second Basil and I met and started talking."

The little chipmunk looked like he was going to have a coronary any moment.

The red-nosed chipmunk sighed. "Chip, let's face it: They've got a point. At least he won't be by himself."

"But…But…!"

"Yes!" Mickey shouted, turning to give a high-five to a surprised Basil.

Basil blinked, looked at his hand, and then gave Mickey a quizzical look. "What was that?"

"Oh. That was a high-five. A way of celebrating where I come from."

"Oh." He looked at his hand again. "Interesting."

Mickey grinned widely. His grin widened further when Basil looked up and gave a small smile of his own.

"In any case, Your Highness, we need to return to the castle soon before your father starts looking for you," Chip pointed out, grumbling a little.

The grin disappeared from the prince's face. It had been fun while it lasted. "I know, I know…" He turned to Basil. "Where do you want to be dropped off?"

"As far from that cat as possible" was the dry response. "My brother Myerricroft should still be at work at the moment, so you should be able to leave me at his flat. Nobody lives there but him."

"What about your home?"

"I'm visiting my brother for the week," the taller mouse explained. "I live in Sussex, but I'll be going to Oxford University in about three months."

"Well, at least I'll know where to find you." Mickey smiled, leading the way to the transporter controls. "Okay, let's see if we can figure out the coordinates of your brother's…'flat' you called it?"

As the pair of mice leaned over the controls—Mickey with practiced ease and Basil with absolute fascination—both pointedly ignored Chip's growl of "Teenagers!"

* * *

Myerricroft knew that his brother knew something that he did not, and it irked him.

The worst part was that his younger brother knew that he knew and was entirely too smug about it. Sherringford had been sitting sideways in an armchair, casually flipping through a book in front of the fireplace without a care in the world. Yet there had been a cocky grin on the thinner mouse's face.

It was that cocky grin more than anything that had tipped Myerricroft off. When Sherringford had some sort of secret knowledge that he himself did not have access to, he knew that his younger brother could never help but feel a bit superior since the situation was normally reversed.

"All right, Sherringford! What is it?" Myerricroft demanded over dinner.

"What is what?"

Myerricroft narrowed his eyes. To think that his brother had the audacity to look _innocent!_ "You know what I mean! You know something, and I would like to know what it is. You've had your fun, dear brother; now share the wealth."

"I'm afraid I can't," the younger of the two Basil brothers chirped, the grin on his face widening.

"And why not?"

"Unfortunately, dear brother, as much as I would _like_ to share the wealth, I—like you in your beloved office at Pall Mall doing God-knows-what[2]—have been sworn to secrecy."

The elder of the two siblings bristled at this, knowing that this feeling was _exactly_ how his brother felt when he would occasionally dangle such tantalizing tidbits in front of _his _prominent nose. "Then can you explain to me _how _you entered my flat this afternoon without leaving any traces of snow in it or in front of the door while you used your key?"

"No."

Mentally, Myerricroft noted that all younger brothers should be outlawed.

The younger of the two Basils thought something over for a minute before he seemed to come to a decision. At last, he said, "However, I have been told that I _could _show you this if I wanted to."

Myerricroft leaned forward as his brother pulled out a small pendant from under his shirt before taking it into his own hand. It was an odd little trinket that was shaped like a heart symbol with a crown at the top. Upon closer inspection, Myerricroft noticed that it was a bit larger than he had originally estimated though it still fit neatly in his palm with space to spare. Raising an eyebrow, the elder brother looked at his younger sibling. "What is it?"

"A gift from a friend."

The other eyebrow rose to meet its mate. "A friend?"

"Don't act so surprised! I'm not _completely_ socially inept!"

Rather than responding to that, Myerricroft asked, "And who is this friend?"

"His name's Mickey."

"His name sounds American." The elder of the two carefully turned the pendant over in his hand, not wanting to harm the delicate-seeming trinket.

"Doesn't it?" his younger brother asked, grin widening.

Sensing that the name was misleading, Myerricroft asked, "So where is he from?"

Gently pulling the pendant out of Myerricroft's grip, Sherringford cheekily answered, "That, unfortunately, falls under what I have been sworn to secrecy about."

Myerricroft made a mental note to send a draft of that law concerning the ban of younger brothers to the appropriate government office as soon as possible.

* * *

At about the same time Basil was having dinner with his brother, Mickey was joining his parents for dinner in the midst of a banquet. Dressed out in some of the Magic Kingdom's[3] finest clothes, he felt more like a spectacle than a real person. And sitting at the head table made the prince feel as if he had been placed on display.

Of course, this did not mean that he was _not _on display. Delegates from other kingdoms had come to talk with his father, and the rulers of the Magic Kingdom had wanted them to meet the future ruler.

In addition to that, the king and queen wanted Mickey to have a taste of politics so he would be able to rule more capably. In their opinion, no book could teach what real experience could.

However, that did not mean that the king and queen were completely heartless to their son. When not speaking to one of the delegates, they would ask their son about various topics including what sort of things he had learned in school recently. Though Mickey suspected that there were times that his parents were simply listening politely, he deeply appreciated the breaks from heavy discussions of politics.

"Anything else happen today that was new and exciting?" the king asked.

Mickey swallowed the slice of beef he had been chewing before answering. "I made my first flight to a different world today."

His father seemed to take real interest now, as did his mother.

"Did you?" his father inquired. "Where did you go?"

During the trip back from "Basil's world" (as Mickey had started to think of it), the prince and the chipmunks had agreed to keep the story as close to the truth as possible. However, since Basil's world was very similar in appearance to part of the Neverland world, they would say that Mickey had visited there. That way if anyone asked, Mickey would be able to lie more easily (and accurately) about what he saw.

"The Neverland world. Only I didn't go _to _Neverland itself. I wanted to look at that city part of it since nobody really goes there that much." Seeing his mother's raised eyebrow, Mickey added, "It's really pretty in its own way."

"My son, I honestly don't see how such a dirty city like that could be pretty," the queen stated, sniffing delicately.

"Too true, Queen Bridget," one of the ambassadors—obviously an eavesdropper—cut in. "The city—I believe the locals call it 'Loodan'—still runs mostly on coal power, and there are coal ashes everywhere. Crime runs rampant in the streets. There is evidence of poverty abounding in certain areas. I do not see how the prince could see how it as…er…'pretty.'"

_'I hate it when they talk about me as if I'm not even here!'_ the heir to the Magic Kingdom's throne thought. _'However, I must be calm when answering him. Don't want to make somebody mad who could convince his country to go to war over the smallest insult.'_

The prince took a deep breath. "If I may correct you, Ambassador, the locals call their city 'London,' not 'Loodan.' Though, it is an honest mistake. Some of their accents could be quite thick, and I thought they said something like that until I saw a newspaper."

The ambassador, though he appeared ruffled at the thought of someone at least twenty years his junior correcting him, nodded for Mickey to continue.

"And while what you do say is true, Ambassador, there was a certain…charm…about the city that I rather enjoyed. Even the way the soot landed on the buildings gave the city character. With all of its dirt, London was pretty like—how can I say this?—like some of horses are: You use old and worn tack on them because, for some strange reason, they look better than they do with new tack." Mickey blushed a little. "I'm sorry, but it's a bit difficult to explain."

"Actually, you're making perfect sense," King Vincent stated. "I've seen horses like that. Fine-looking horses, but the moment you put a nice piece of new tack on them, the horse suddenly looks terrible. I suppose some cities work the same way. I never thought of it like that."

Though already sitting up straight in his chair, the prince sat up a little straighter at the indirect praise. _'Plus I win some minor little debate! And against an ambassador!'_

"I suppose that's true," the ambassador said slowly. "But there is still the matter of all of that crime and poverty. You simply cannot gloss over that."

_'Oh, you're not catching me with _that!' "I did not mean to sound like I was, sir," Mickey stated simply. "The poor sections of London and its crime rate are nothing to laugh at or simply gloss over. However, there is little I myself can do since I cannot directly interfere." Pausing for a breath, he spied his father nodding his approval out of the corner of his eye, so he chose his next words carefully. "Though I wish I _could_ help, I must leave these matters up to their systems of government and justice to deal with."

Another nod of approval, and Mickey mentally sighed in relief. That had been tougher than he had thought it would be.

_'Still, while I may not be able to _directly_ interfere, if the crook just _happens _to trip while he runs past me, it's his own dang fault,'_ Mickey mused to himself.

The rest of the banquet fell back to normal conversation of politics, and Mickey listened with little interest.

Being a prince really was no fun at all.

* * *

Being a student really was no fun at all.

Basil worked through Professor Ratigan's mathematics exam, cursing the rat for every breath he took.[4] He secretly suspected the professor of some sort of vendetta against the class.

So engrossed in his exam and his fury at his teacher was he that Basil did not notice a warmth against his chest at first. The pleasant feeling drew him from glaring daggers at a particularly irritating mathematical proof. Closing his eyes for a second to gather his thoughts, he focused on the pleasant heat.

And then he remembered what it signaled.

Idly, he rested his head on his left hand, using a finger to idly play with the chain around his neck that went under collar and shirt. Casually yet swiftly, he worked out the heart-shaped, crown-topped pendant and held it in his hand.

Most who had seen it speculated that the strange pendant was some sort of bizarre good luck charm. This raised no end to snickering since Basil's mind was scientifically-inclined. However, Basil said nothing to the snickers, neither confirming nor denying the claim.

Rubbing the pendant, he carelessly pressed twice on the crown. After a few seconds, the pendant lost most of its heat. The message had been received.

Though it seemed like a simple piece of jewelry, the pendant was, in truth, a simple sort of communications device. The warmth Basil had felt had been a question from Mickey: "Is it all right to visit?" Basil had three choices to answer with by pressing the crown on the heart. One press meant "All right"; two presses, "Inconvenient. Wait until I signal you"; three presses, "Too inconvenient. Come back another day." The British mouse could also call to the prince by pressing four times rapidly, but this was a signal he swore to himself to use only in an emergency. After all, it was a huge risk for both of them: Mickey could find himself in enormous trouble for breaking the laws of his people, and Basil was fairly sure that not everybody on his world was ready to know about other worlds yet and did not think mass hysteria would do anyone any good.

Finally completing the accursed mathematical proof, Basil turned his exam over and looked for the next question, nearly sighing with relief when he find that there was not another. Picking up the exam paper from his desk and his violin from its place on the floor beside him, he walked to Professor Ratigan's desk and set it down. It was the first completed paper.

The professor looked at the exam and then looked up at him before nodding with a strange smile. Basil somehow managed to suppress a shudder and walked hurriedly away, feeling the professor's calculating gaze on his back as he exited the room. Something about the rat always managed to give him the most unpleasant feelings, as if Professor Ratigan was always watching him.

Walking swiftly through the hallways and then exiting the building, Basil crossed the grounds until he reached one of his favorite places: a secluded little spot under an old dead oak that had yet to be cut down.

He pressed the crown on the pendant again.

A faint hum reached his ears and, in a small shimmer of light, Mickey appeared in full university garb.

"Hello, Mickey," Basil greeted. "Sorry about the wait."

"It's okay. What was it?"

"Exam in Ratigan's class."

"Isn't that the creepy professor who's always watching you?"

"The same." Basil sat down and leaned against the old tree. "So, what shall it be today? The usual exploration?"

Though he would never say it aloud, Mickey's innocence of what was common knowledge to the people of his world amused Basil to no end. Mickey had visited Basil three more times in London and had dragged the university student all over, questioning everything he saw. The prince's visits to Oxford had been no different either. What had surprised the native inhabitant of this particular world was that the visiting prince's questions actually made his own drab little world seem so new.

"Actually, I was wondering if we could just…y'know…talk…a while."

The tan mouse's ears pricked in surprise, but he found himself nodding as the pair settled down on the grass. "What do you want to talk about?"

"Well…what are you planning to do when you get older?" Mickey asked, sitting on the grass, plucking a piece from beside him, and toying with it.

The Oxford student tilted his head to one side to study his friend. The normally cheerful prince seemed to be in a rather melancholy mood that day. Perhaps the best course of action would be to answer his questions until the reason for this melancholy became apparent.

However, the question the prince had presented to him made Basil nervous. The answer was still mostly uncertain, but he did have one idea. Yet the people he had told normally advised him to choose something else if they did not simply sit in silence. Some had even laughed at him.

"You promise not to laugh or just sit there?" the student asked.

Mickey blinked at him in surprise but nodded.

"I was thinking about…becoming a private consulting detective…"

Now it was Mickey's turn to tilt his head to one side in confusion. "What's that?"

It was a familiar question that Basil had answered many times, and he answered once again, "I would be hired both by the police and private individuals to look into criminal matters and advise them on how to act. I'd use my deductive abilities and other methods to solve crimes." He took a deep breath. "There is only one other private consulting detective: the human Sherlock Holmes. I think that I could use methods like his to do some good."

He stopped talking and waited. Now it was time for Mickey's reaction.

To his amazement, Mickey smiled. "Do it."

"What?"

"Do it. You'd be great at it! I mean, you're so good at doing that deducing thing just for fun. Imagine what you could do if you used it for solving crimes!" Mickey beamed at him. "Criminals would tremble at the sound of your name!"

The Oxford student leaned forward. "You really think I should?"

"Yeah! From all the different courses you're taking outside of that music major of yours,[5] I thought you'd already made up your mind. I mean, chemistry isn't exactly needed for a concert violinist, is it?"

"No, no, it's not." Basil looked down and brushed some imagined dirt off of his robe. "I really wasn't sure. Everybody I've told this to has given me…negative responses. It's rather disheartening." Before Mickey could say anything, he continued, "I know the profession can be a successful one though it will require hard work, but that doesn't frighten me off. I'm just worried that maybe I won't be…what Sherlock Holmes is. I suppose I'm afraid that I'll discover that my skills are not good enough for the job. Going back to my family with my tail between my legs is the _last_ thing I want to do."

"You won't."

The quiet confidence behind those two words made Basil snap his head up to look into his royal friend's eyes.

Gazing steadily at the student, the prince stated, "You'll make it. I know it. And your family will be so proud of you, everybody who said that you'd never be able to do it will have _their _tails between _their_ legs."

That unwavering confidence would have frightened many, but it challenged Basil. Mickey _expected_ him to make it, and he would make sure he would. The prince had thrown down a gauntlet with those words, and the student would pick it up.

"Looks like you have your life all planned out for yourself," Mickey finally said after a few seconds of silence, "and mine's mostly been planned out for me."

The slightly bitter tone in the second half of that sentence was not lost on Basil. "So, royalty do _not_ have the freedom the public seems to think they have."

"You got that right." Sighing, Mickey stated, "Maybe I'm just whining, but I'd like to be able to plan my own future for once. I want to know that something I do ten or twenty years from now will be because I wanted to do it, not because I _had_ to do it. But because I'm the stupid heir to the throne and there're no spares,[6] my future is pretty much outlined. When I become king, I have to do this, this, and this. I'm surprised I'm not already betrothed."

Although he would not have done it for any other royal, Basil gave Mickey a sympathetic look. Mickey preferred not to talk about his kingdom if the topic was related to himself as the prince or future ruler of it. On the rare occasions that the subject did come up, it was when Mickey needed to vent his frustrations or risk making a scene at the worst possible time.

"I'm guessing that I have a lot of fairy tales that I need to throw out of my head," the student dryly commented.

"If you're talking about how the prince and the princess meet somehow, fall madly in love, and get married after defeating the bad guy, then, yeah. Ditch that idea. I'll be amazed if I even know my queen before my wedding day. Mom and Dad literally met at the altar." At Basil's raised eyebrows and slack jaw, Mickey held up his hand as if to ward off any cries of outrage. "It's not as bad as you think. They love each other very much, but it was…kinda awkward for them at first."

"I'd imagine."

"Still," the prince sighed, "I'm wondering if it's not too late for them to have another and raise him or her to take my place as heir so I can step down from that position. I'm not even a sage, and I don't see good things for my reign. But I'll do it if only because I don't want the kingdom to go into complete and utter chaos."

Basil considered his response to that carefully. If he answered the standard "You'll be fine" response, Mickey would brush it off. The black-furred mouse did not desire the position he had been bred for, longing instead for the life of the commoners and choosing to learn and explore beyond what he and others from his world had known.

It was from this information that Basil drew his inspiration for his response. "I always thought that it was the kings and queens who didn't want their power but accepted it for the good of their people who made the best rulers. They always reached beyond what most rulers did and learned what they could. In the end, it seemed that their time as ruler was always more meaningful to their people."

Though Mickey bowed his head so the student could not see his face, Basil could tell by his friend's posture that the prince was considering his words.

Finally, there was a response as Mickey lifted his head with a strange little smile. "How do you always know what to say to pull me out of this kind of stuff?"

"Observation of your habits," Basil answered promptly. Then he added slowly, "But it doesn't mean what I say isn't true."

Mickey stared at him in silence for a few seconds before saying "Thanks."

"You're welcome."

After a strange, not-quite-uncomfortable silence, the prince grinned, rolled to his feet, and stated, "Let's make a deal."

Basil narrowed his eyes suspiciously. "What is it?"

"You try to become the…What was his name? Sherlock Holmes?" At Basil's nod, he continued, "You try to become the Sherlock Holmes of mice if that's what you really want to do. Meanwhile, I'll just have to keep doing what I can to learn how to manage the kingdom without tripping over my own two humongous feet." Mickey extended a hand. "Deal?"

A grin forming on his face, Basil stood up as well and grasped Mickey's hand. "Deal."

A firm handshake sealed it.

* * *

Several weeks later, Mickey sighed with complete and utter boredom for not the first time in his life. The gummi ship he rode in flew towards a planet containing a place called "Hawaii" that he was visiting with his father and a dozen bodyguards. While an outing with his father should have gotten him excited due to the fact that he and the king hardly spent any real time together, this trip was business rather than pleasure. They were traveling to the Hawaii world to assess a threat.

_'What sort of threat would be so terrible that Agent Bubbles—'_ he inwardly snickered at the name _'—would risk alerting his world to the presence of outsiders from another world?'_

As he pondered the question, the heavy granite stone called Dread dropped unceremoniously into his stomach. He had met the stoic man only once, but that meeting gave him the impression that Agent Bubbles did not ask for outside help lightly. If Agent Bubbles needed help, then something was terribly wrong—possibly on the same level as an apocalyptic disaster—with his world.

"We've arrived, Your Majesties," Chip announced from the pilot's seat.

"Excellent. Now, let's see what the trouble is," King Vincent said.

Mickey followed his father along with the guards to where Dale waited at the transporter controls. Within seconds, they were transported down to the surface.

And they arrived in the midst of chaos.

Shadows moved out of sync with the position of the sun. Before the stunned party's eyes, the shadows even rose from the ground to form creatures with glowing yellow eyes. Many of these shadows were small with antennae on their heads; some were larger with armor; some were enormous obese beings; all displayed the same soulless single-mindedness.

People screamed and fled from the shadows, paying no heed to the newcomers. One of the small shadows leaped onto a woman, reached into her chest, and tore out her heart. When it nimbly leaped off, she fell to the ground, still clutching her chest. Mickey watched in morbid fascination as her skin darkened and her eyes paled. Right before his eyes, she became another of the soulless shadows, antennae quivering, seeking.

The drama of the shadow and the woman confirmed the party's fears. They _knew_ what these shadows were but had never wanted to see them. These shadows were the creatures of legends and nightmares.

"Heartless!" the king hissed in a mix of anger and fear.

Though the natives paid them no mind, the Heartless were quick to notice the party. Mickey, like those with him, had not come unarmed, but he set his jaw in a hard line. The sword he carried and now drew would surely be next to useless against this hoard. He may as well have come unarmed.

"Protect the king and prince!" the leader of the guards ordered.

But even as the guards swiftly formed a perimeter, the Heartless struck. Their numbers overwhelmed the guards, allowing them to slip past the courageous men to attack the two royals in the center. These creatures sought any heart they could get their claws on, and they wanted the hearts of every member of the party.

Mickey swung his sword expertly as the first of the Heartless reached him. He silently praised the weaponsmaster for every bruise, cut, and scrape that the bull had given him. Without those rough but valuable teachings, the Heartless would not have been knocked aside. But he had little time for further thoughts as more and more Heartless slipped past the guards. Again and again he struck blows to the shadows, knocking them away.

A scream alerted the prince to a Heartless claiming a victim; another cry, another victim. Two more screams sounded nearly simultaneously, and Mickey saw the guard to his left drop. Once that guard had become one of their own, the Heartless slowly pushed the prince in that direction.

Mickey continued to lash out at the creatures, fully aware that four of his father's men now were among their number. However, even if his father had become a Heartless and attacked him, he would strike it and, if he could have, destroy it.

As the Heartless seemed to ready themselves for some sort of group attack, he quickly glanced at his father and the eight remaining guards. How far away they now seemed!

His eyes snapped back to the Heartless just as the group attack began. Whirling around and around to meet each attacker, the prince fought valiantly. But his weapon continued to do little more than stun a Heartless for more than a moment. Then the Heartless would attack again.

His muscles burned with effort. He tried to call out to his father and the guards; however, his muscles were so greedy with their need for oxygen that he only managed a squeak.

**"Mickey!"** his father called from beyond the maelstrom of malevolent shadows.

That call distracted him long enough for a Heartless to leap up and latch onto his sword hand. He lashed out with his feet, free hand, and tail[7] even as he tried to shake off the Heartless.

More leaped onto him, pulling him to the ground. Once they had him pinned, they would take his heart.

"Dad!" he croaked.

What a way to die: staring into the soulless, glowing eyes of a Heartless.

"Get off of me!" the prince ordered.

**_You have the weapon to defeat them. Use it._**

Mickey nearly stopped struggling due to his shock. Whose voice was that? And what did it mean? The only weapon he had was the sword he had brought from home, and he knew how little it affected them.

Yet the blade in his hand seemed different now. Though balanced just as perfectly as his old blade (if not more so), it had a feeling of power and rightness to it that he could barely describe to anyone later. It was a sword that promised strength and power that he knew could deliver exactly what it promised. And it felt right because he knew, in his heart, that it belonged only to him.

Jerking his left hand free, he punched the Heartless on his chest off and grabbed the one on his sword arm to fling it away. Then he swung his sword just over his legs to strike the Heartless. He rolled to his feet, barely acknowledging the fact that now the Heartless dissipated when his weapon hit them.

Now as he struck the shadows, they disappeared in puffs of black smoke. At first, the Heartless backed up a few steps before resuming their attacks as if drawn to the weapon in his hand. That was fine. If they wanted a taste of his blade, he would be happy to give it to them.

Flashes of gold followed by clouds of black filled Mickey's vision as he struck down the shadows one by one. The smaller shadows were easy to destroy. With one swipe, the horrid creatures were gone.

Then one of the behemoths decided to take on the prince and his new weapon.

It charged at him, and the smaller shadows immediately flattened themselves against the ground and moved out of its way. Mickey raced toward it and slid underneath it as it jumped in an attempt to squash him. He whirled around to strike it just as it turned around. The blow actually knocked him back a few inches and only seemed to annoy the giant shadow.

_'So it has some sort of shield in the front. What about in the back?'_ Mickey asked himself.

Ignoring the shouts of his father and the guards, Mickey charged again, jumping into the air with an ease he could not have hoped for before. He sensed power surging from the blade to his hands down to his legs in order to help in the jump. At the same time, he knew, somehow, that until his body was used to performing such feats so it could do them entirely on its own, that power would assist. He twisted in mid-air and landed on his feat to face the Heartless. Immediately, he began to strike its back.

_That_ had an effect. The Heartless shuddered and immediately began to try to start turning around. Yet Mickey kept moving as he attacked. Even as smaller Heartless tried to assist their larger counterpart, Mickey remained primarily focused on the behemoth. And soon, the large Heartless vanished.

Armored Heartless were difficult to destroy, but not as difficult as the large Heartless. Casting Thundera had a wonderful effect due to the metal of that same armor. Mickey also noticed a considerable increase in the strength of his spell that heartened him.

He managed to fight his way to his father and the remaining guards, the guards' number now sadly reduced to six.

"Your Highness!" one of the guards shouted in surprise.

"I'm okay! Dad?"

"I've certainly been better!" the king grunted as he knocked aside a Heartless, which Mickey finished off before it had time to recover.

The prince said nothing else, returning his focus to a world of attacks and counterattacks. Now, it was he who pushed the Heartless where he wanted them to go. He sensed rather than saw the rest of the party following him.

Something compelled him to go to the beach. His heart tugged him in that direction, and the blade in his hand seemed to urge him to go there. But even as he approached it, more and more Heartless tried to impede his progress. His mind barely registered their blows when they hit. Someone—he could not tell who even years after the fight—cast Curaga on him though the reason escaped him, for he felt fine.

"Mickey, we need to transport back to the ship!" his father shouted in his ear.

Yet the king's voice sounded so far away. That compulsion to get to the beach nearly overwhelmed everything else. There was something vital that he had to do though what it was, he had no idea.

"No, we have to get to the beach!" he argued, hacking another armored Heartless into oblivion.

"Mickey—!"

"Go if you want, but there's something I have to do!" Having said that, Mickey dove into the thick of the Heartless. His mind blocked out his father's cries.

_Hack! Slash! Clank!_ His entire world narrowed to the Heartless that stood in his way. He whirled this way and that in order to smite each attacker as he fought his way to the beach.

Then, with no real memory of how he reached it, he was there. The waves splashed peacefully against the quiet sands of the shore.

The sudden tranquility of the beach worried him, and he gripped the blade tensely with both hands now.

Mickey was right to have been worried. A sudden, enormous surge in the water announced the arrival of the last barrier between him and whatever he had come to the beach to do. Within seconds, the source of the surge reared up out of the ocean, creating waves that swept far beyond the ordinary wake-line.

This mostly-black creature was serpentine in nature with fins on either side of its body just below the head. It glared at the mouse with a pair of soulless yellow eyes that peered over an impressive set of jaws. The part above the water alone towered at least twenty feet above him, revealing the Heartless symbol emblazoned on its gray stomach.

The prince gulped. "Great. Just…great."

Part of him wanted to turn and run as far as his legs could carry him. That was the sane part of him: his survival instincts. Yet the pull that had brought him this far would not let him go now. He was going to do what he had come here to do, insanely large and nasty Heartless or no insanely large and nasty Heartless.

_'But how is little old me going to bring _that _thing down?! Those fat Heartless were a cinch compared to this guy!'_

By some outside control, his eyes snapped immediately to the Heartless's eyes. Try as he might, he could not focus his eyes anywhere else in order to seek out a weak spot.

_'What's going on?! Why can't I look away?! Is this some sort of trick?!'_ But as he looked, and the creature began its first lunging attack, he realized, _'The eyes! The weakest point of every creature is its eyes!'_

Suddenly, his eyes were under his control again, allowing him to see the best escape route from the jaws of the Heartless just in time. The Heartless only snapped up the patch of sand he had stood on just a heartbeat before.

He rolled across the sand, breathing heavily. He launched a Fira spell directly into the creature's eye.

It roared and pulled back for a moment. Then, as if angered that such a small creature actually wounded it, it lunged again. The Heartless once again missed but just barely.

Mickey panted. Running on sand was harder than running on stone or some other hard surface. His feet kept sinking into the soft ground, costing him precious seconds of escape time. Another second just then, and he would have lost his left leg.

Firing three Fira spells in quick succession, he then dodged. The first spell missed, but his aim could not have been truer with the other two. As the creature lunged again, Mickey prepared himself for another leap to the side.

To his surprise, he found himself leaping directly up and over the jaws of death. He even struck the snout for a little extra height. Now on top of the Heartless's long snout, he stared directly into his enemy's eyes.

"Uh…hi?"

The Heartless immediately began to rear back up. While it was fast when it came to striking, it was quite slow when it came to raising itself up.

Mickey raced down the snout towards the eyes. He would not waste these precious seconds. For once it had completely reared up, it would surely start to try to shake him off.

He reached the eyes in no time and began slashing the one to his right. Predictably, the Heartless immediately stopped rearing and started trying to throw him off right then. Thinking quickly, he jabbed his weapon directly in the eye and held on for dear life.

As the shaking continued, he gritted his teeth before casting Thundera directly into its eye. This made the Heartless writhe more. Again and again he cast Thundera before the eye dimmed.

Yet the Heartless was still moving.

"Why…don't…you…just…die?!" the prince shouted between shakes.

Once again, his eyes moved due to some outside will to focus on the other eye. This time, he knew that he would not regain control of them until he recognized what he was supposed to see so he thought quickly.

Realization did not take long.

_'I have to take out the other one, too?! Ah, _**crud!'** Aloud, he snapped to himself, "I can't get a break today!"

But how to reach the other eye? That was the question. With his eyes now back under his control, he scanned the beast's head. There was very little for him to grip on to except for the fin-like protrusions over the eyes.

He narrowed his eyes. It was a risky and stupid move. One small mistake, and he could easily wind up down the Heartless's throat.

When the Heartless was about to shake its massive head in his direction again, he jerked his blade out of its eye and swung himself up into the air. Mickey flipped himself, feeling that strange power assisting him in the maneuver.

_'Please don't do something weird…'_ he silently begged the Heartless.

Fortunately, the Heartless decided to keep shaking its head, apparently too surprised by the sudden move of its small prey.

With both hands, Mickey grasped the fin on the right side of the monster's head. He inched his way down the fin until he was sure he could not miss with a stab at that glowing orb.

Then he realized that his weapon was gone.

"Oh no…" the prince moaned to himself.

When had he dropped it? It had been in his hand a few moments ago. Of course, he had known it would be awkward trying to grasp the fin one-handed, so it had been fortunate that he had had both hands free when he grabbed the fin. But now he would have to dangle with one hand as he cast spells with his free hand instead of shoving his blade into the Heartless's eye just as before, using that to help anchor himself.

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, tightening his grip with his left hand and releasing his hold with his right. As he brought his hand back and formed a fist in order to cast Fira in hopes of hitting the creature's eye, longing for the blade, a sudden weight in his hand surprised him into nearly dropping the source of the weight or letting go. The weight felt familiar.

The blade was back.

Not bothering to question why or how for the moment, Mickey shoved the weapon into the Heartless's eye. Even as the monster roared at the insult and shook its head with more vigor, the prince cast Thundera again and again into this eye, clinging for dear life to his precarious position.

At last, the eye dimmed. The beast shuddered and began to tumble. Yanking his blade from the eye, the prince released his hold and fell to the sand, rolling.

The Heartless dissipated before it hit the beach.

Weary from his battle, Mickey stared numbly at where the creature once loomed over the now tranquil beach. Shouts from behind him, reached his ears.

"Mickey! Mickey!" his father called.

"Your Highness!" chorused the guards who accompanied the king.

The prince stared up at his father as King Vincent reached him, wrapping him in a loving, paternal embrace.

"My son, what were you thinking?! You could have been killed!" King Vincent sternly chided, worry coloring his voice.

"Dad, I…I…"

That pull still remained. There was something that still needed to be done. He shifted the blade in his hand. His sword hand felt like it itched with the need to do _something_.

The king stared at him and then looked at the blade before gasping, releasing his son involuntarily. Now free of his father, Mickey stood and half-walked, half-stumbled to the edge of the sand.

A gigantic keyhole appeared and hovered above the sea. As if he had done it his entire life, the prince swept his blade in front of him, pointing the tip at the keyhole. A light shone from the tip of the blade and hit the keyhole. A second later, a _click_ resounded in the air.

The pull stopped. His task, at last, was complete.

"My liege," a guard murmured mostly to the king though the prince heard him, "is that…?"

"I think it is," King Vincent answered with a proud yet strangely grim tone.

For the first time, Mickey actually _looked_ at the blade in his hand. The cool silver handle that rested in his gloved hand was connected to a long golden blade in the shape of a massive key. He had heard vague tales about a weapon such as this, but it had been so long since the last time he had heard such tales. He had long forgotten the name of it.

The world started to spin before his eyes, and he fell even as his father shouted to him.

A single word was whispered into his mind as his world grew black: _Keyblade._

* * *

Basil stared up at the night sky. Years ago, he had seen a star move across the sky with no tail. Its behavior had been strange. It had moved slowly at first before suddenly speeding up and shooting out of sight before he could draw his brother or elder sister's[8] attention to it.

Since that time, he had turned his eyes skyward. On occasion, he had seen more of these stars passing by. After a while, these sightings had led to dreams that these oddly-moving stars were really interstellar ships of some sort, traveling from world to world like a ships traveled from port to port. His siblings had certainly grown annoyed with him the more he discussed the topic.

Now, however, he did not see a star moving across the sky—or, rather, a gummi ship passing by his world. Instead, he saw one star flickering oddly. It behaved like a candle trying to fight the wind, trying not to blow out.

"How very odd…" Basil murmured to himself.

He wondered if the star would nova, but that seemed unlikely. Nobody had ever recorded such behavior in a star before it did so.

The flickering slowed with the light lasting longer than the dark. Finally, the light stayed constant once more.

"Well, that was interesting. I'll have to ask Mickey about that the next time I see him."

Turning to go back to his dormitory flat, Basil glanced back at the sky one more time to see a light move away from the star until it seemed to become a star itself, shooting across the heavens.

"Have a safe trip," he muttered to the travelers in the ship.

* * *

"—choose my son?" the king's voice murmured as the prince came back to consciousness.

Mickey slowly, tiredly raised his eyelids, trying to determine where he was and—what was more important in his opinion—which way was up. He shifted slightly and discovered himself lying on his back in the gummi ship. He lay on one of the surprisingly comfortable emergency cots that were kept in the ship.

One of the guards must have noticed his fidgeting, for the bull dog who stood closest to the prince turned his head and looked at him. "Your Highness, are you all right?" he whispered so as not to disturb the king's musing.

"Tired…" Mickey murmured.

"We'll be back at the castle soon, sire."

"How long was I asleep?"

"About forty-five minutes, sire."

Forty-five minutes? It felt as if no time at all had passed since he had lost consciousness on the beach.

"Your Majesty, you were wounded. Please take this potion," the guard insisted, waving to one of his fellows.

The prince nodded as the second guard—a duck this time—placed the potion bottle to his lips. He swallowed the contents and settled back to rest.

Apparently satisfied, the guards went back to quietly chatting amongst themselves, possibly mourning the loss of their comrades.

Mickey let his eyes droop before he forced them open to scan the area around him. His sword—no, _the Keyblade_—was gone again. Where was it?

**_It will always be with you, young one. Call upon it, and it shall be there._**

The voice in his mind soothed him despite its imperious sound.

With that comfort, Mickey closed his eyes, retreating back into the blissful folds of sleep.

* * *

Becoming the new Keybearer, Mickey decided not long after, was not an honor at all. In no time at all, the entire kingdom learned about his new status. Now everyone seemed to be walking on eggshells around him or talking to him as if he were some sort of god.

He had half a mind to whip out the Keyblade and start beheading people at random.

"Mickey!" Princess Minnie called to him.

"Oh, not now…" Mickey moaned to himself. He forced a smile on his face and turned to face her. "Princess Minnie, how nice to see you."

She giggled. "No need to be so formal when we're at school. It's just 'Minnie' here, remember?"

He nodded, secretly hoping she would hold off on anything romantic.

They had been friends since they were children. But ever since reaching the teenage years, Minnie seemed determined to make that friendship something more. What she could not understand was that Mickey did not _want _to take it further if he could avoid it. It would feel as if he was dating his sister, and he did not even _have_ a sister.

"It's always been just 'Minnie.' Why'd you call me 'Princess?'" Minnie pouted.

_'Cover time!'_ He swallowed. "Sorry, Min. A little distracted. Thinking about the test in History today."

That seemed to please her. Throwing in her nickname seemed to help as well.

"Would you like to walk to class together?" Minnie asked, offering him her books.

_'Like I really have a choice.'_ Aloud, he answered as he accepted them, "Sure."

As the princess chattered in his ear, Mickey's mind was on other things and other places. Most specifically was a conversation with Basil he had had just the other day when he had managed to slip away:

_"I saw a star flickering the other day. Why would a star act like that?"_

_"Flickering?"_

_"It seemed as if it was about to die out, but then it became strong and healthy again."_

_"It must have been when I…"_

_"You…?"_

_"It's hard to explain. I don't know if I _can _explain it right now. It's so weird."_

_"Then I suppose I'll have to wait until you can. However long that—"_

"Mickey, are you even listening to me?"

Jerked out of his thoughts, Mickey slapped a smile on his face and answered, "Yeah! Sure was! Absolutely!"

"Then repeat what I just said to you," Minnie ordered.

Feeling a bit wicked, Mickey chirped, "'Mickey, are you even listening to me?'"

_"Before_ that!"

_'Uh oh. What _did _she say?!'_ He thought for a moment.

"You _weren't_ listening, were you?"

"I was! Just give me a second!" After a moment, he hazarded, "Something about Daisy…"

She beamed at him. "That's right. Daisy and I are going to go shopping in the village today. I wanted to know if you wanted to come along."

_'And carry packages? No thanks.'_ He shook his head and shrugged apologetically. "Sorry, but I can't. I have to practice. As the weaponsmaster always says, I should always familiarize myself with a new weapon."

It was not exactly a lie. He truly did wish to familiarize himself with the Keyblade rather than simply "wing it" (as his mage-apprentice friend Donald put it) when he ran into the Heartless. However, he had not planned on starting such training that afternoon. His body, incredibly enough, was still weary from the fight a few days before.

"Oh." Minnie grew quiet. All mentions of the Keyblade, no matter how subtle, seemed to make her nervous. "Okay. Have a good time then."

"You, too."

The pair stepped into the room for History and said nothing else.

* * *

Time passed, and Mickey grew more and more adept at using the Keyblade. His sneaking off, unfortunately, grew less and less. However, he did manage to send off the occasional letter to his old friend through Chip and Dale when possible.

The correspondence at least helped keep Mickey from losing his mind through it all. While he never did think of a way to tell Basil about the Keyblade or the Keyholes or the Heartless, Basil's jibing sarcasm and strange wisdom at what he did write helped keep things in perspective.

As time went on, King Vincent grew ill. It was not just a physical illness that weakened the king but also fear. For the prince would feel in his heart the occasional pull of a Keyhole that needed to be sealed before the world it occupied was completely overrun by Heartless. On these missions, Mickey would sometimes fight alone when he was separated from the guards or mages that his father ordered to accompany him. Though the young prince had certainly grown stronger, the king feared for his son's life.

Soon, young Mickey was sitting in on more and more council meetings in place of his father. More and more affairs of state were handled by the heir rather than the king. All of this piled on top of his regular duties as heir and his duty to the worlds as Keybearer. Mickey's entire education was placed in the hands of tutors rather than normal schooling to compensate for this.

"This makes absolutely _no _sense whatsoever…" Mickey muttered to himself, looking over a particularly irritating trigonometry problem, as Donald piloted him home one day from visiting a neighboring, friendly, and (thankfully) Heartless-free world.

They were returning from a minor diplomatic mission that did not require the king's attention. This was fortunate considering that the monarch had been bedridden for quite some time.

"Gawrsh, Mick," Squire[9] Goofy, a friend of Mickey's, said, "you're way ahead of us."

"That's because Von Drake's cramming everything down my throat as fast as possible," the future king grumbled. He wanted to crumple the offensive problem up and throw it across the ship.

"And that's because the king's not gonna be around much longer!" Donald snapped.

The prince stared blankly at the problem before him. He had not wanted to be reminded of that.

"Donald!" the ever-faithful Goofy scolded.

Judging by the silence from the pilot's seat, the fiery duck regretted his words.

"It's okay, Goof. Donald's right. Dad's _not _going to be around much longer. When that happens…" Mickey sighed. "I just hope I'm good enough."

A glance out of the corner of his eye showed Goofy glaring at Donald with a "Now see what you did?" look. Despite all of his clumsiness, the squire was a very caring and observant creature. The mage-apprentice could use a few lessons from him.

"Look, I'm going to try to finish my homework so Von Drake doesn't think I'm completely slacking off. Why don't you two, I don't know, fight over who's driving?"

"You sure, Mickey?" Donald asked, obviously not quite believing the flippant tone his future king had just used.

"Go for it."

Mickey waited until Goofy had sat down next to Donald and the two began "talking" ("arguing" was the more appropriate word) before he pulled out of his pocket the latest brief letter from Basil:

_Mickey—_

_ I know you're worried about your father, but even if all is not well, at least he won't be suffering anymore. I know this from personal experience._[10]_ Be grateful for that._

_As far as you becoming king, remember what I said before. It still holds true as far as I'm concerned: The best rulers were those who did not seek power but accepted it for the good of their people. You'll do fine._

_And if anybody gives you any trouble, I promise to help you hide the bodies._

_—Basil_

The prince chuckled to himself. Even now he remembered when he first told Basil that phrase: "Friends help friends hide the bodies." It became Basil's way of telling him that, no matter what, he had one friend and supporter. A good thing to know as the seconds of his father's life all-too-quickly ticked away.

As the prince tucked the letter back into his pocket and turned his attention back to the problem Von Drake had given him, Donald announced, "We're here!"

"Great. Just…great." Mickey sighed.

Exiting the gummi ship, he was met by one of the councilmen who stood waiting with a grimmer look than the pig normally wore.

"Your Highness," the councilman said without preamble, "your father the king has taken a turn for the worse. He is in his final hours. You must go to him at once."

There it was, the moment he had been dreading: His father was about to die.

"I shall go to him immediately. Donald, Goofy, I'll see you later." With that said, the prince hurried off.

Even as he left, he heard Goofy murmur to Donald, "Poor guy…"

* * *

Outside of his father's sickroom, Mickey briefly hesitated before knocking. His mother surely was by his father's bedside, waiting for him to join her. What would she say to him about all of his rushing around and worrying his father? Would she say anything at all?

Softly, he knocked on the door.

His mother, surprisingly, opened the door for him. She held it open as he entered and began to leave once he was inside.

"Mom?" he asked quietly.

"Your father wants to be alone with you," she whispered, tears in her eyes. "We've already said our goodbyes." At his lost look, she gently pushed him towards the vast curtained bed in the middle of that foreboding room lit only by the fire in the fireplace and the single candle by the bed. "Go, my son."

He took a few steps forward but turned back to see her drift through the door, closing it behind her. She had spent all of her waking hours by her dying husband's side and wasted away to practically nothing. Mournfully, the prince who would soon be king wondered how soon she would join her husband.

"My son…" a weak, whispered voice called from the shadowed confines of the bed.

Taking a deep, shuddering breath, Mickey turned once more and walked to the bed. It had been raised above the floor on a low platform which was almost like an enormous low step, a step that Mickey ascended with a heavy heart. He knelt down beside his father's bedside, bowing his head.

_'Why? Why now? I can't be king! I'm barely doing well as a prince! Correct that: I'm barely doing well as a prince _and_ Keybearer!'_

"Ever since you were born, I was preparing you for this moment: The day when you would become king."

Mickey trembled and lifted his head. It was not the responsibility that frightened him, but he was frightened that he would not do as good of a job as everyone thought he would do.

"Promise me that you will rule justly and wisely from your heart. Promise me!" The dying king reached out to him, his successor.

At least he could promise that. He may not always make the right decisions in everybody's view, but he would make the right decision by his conscience. At least, he hoped he would.

Taking a deep breath, Mickey took his father's hand. Though he wanted to sound firm, his voice came out as a whisper. "I promise."

King Vincent sighed, perhaps in relief. The wind from this last breath blew out the candle at his bedside.

Mickey was left alone, silently crying and clutching the rapidly cooling hand of his dead father.

* * *

Preparations for the coronation were, naturally, rapid and hectic. Most of the preliminaries had been set in place for when King Vincent died. All that was needed was the date and time that it would take place. Mickey needed to be crowned as soon as possible.

During the mayhem, Queen Bridget also died. Though the official report was that she had died due to illness from the stress of caring for her dying husband, it was pretty much agreed that she had truly died due to grief. So her body quickly joined her husband's in the royal family mausoleum.

In the midst of burying both of his parents and the preparation of the coronation, Mickey snuck down to the gummi ship holding area to speak to Chip and Dale. In his pocket was a special letter for his long-time friend.

"Your Highness!" Chip greeted.

Dale saluted. "How can we help, Prince Mickey?"

"Chip, Dale, I have a favor to ask you guys," the prince began, pulling out the letter. "I need you to deliver one last letter."

At the word "last," the two chipmunks sobered up. Though they usually joked about being used as postmen, they truly did not mind it. They could see how much the letters cheered their prince up when he was feeling low. Besides, it gave them an excuse to fly the gummi ships.

"You guys need to stay long enough to get a reply out of him," Mickey told them softly. "Could you please do that for me?"

Dale took the letter as Chip nodded.

"Thanks."

The two chipmunks watched their future king's retreating back.

"It's not fair!" Dale whined.

"I know, I know. But let's get going," Chip sighed. "We'll have to get going now if we want to get back before anybody misses us."

The two chipmunks climbed into the Basic Gummi and maneuvered it towards the World Exit. Expertly, Dale punched in the coordinates for the world where Basil lived, sending them to the autopilot computer connected to the warp drive. Chip, without needing to be asked, activated the warp drive, sending them headlong into a warp jump.

In seconds, they were circling the first world Mickey had ever visited. Punching in a parking orbit, they went to the transporter, placing it on "Auto" in case they activated its "Auto-Return" sequence through their communicators.

Using the pendant that Mickey had given the native mouse, they located Basil's location and then sent the signal, asking if it was all right to beam to him. The confirmation signal returned a heartbeat later.

A moment later, they were standing in Basil's messy dorm flat where he was currently putting down his violin.

"Chip, Dale. A pleasure to see you both again." Basil nodded his head in addition to his greeting.

Dale gave a weak smile. "Yeah, hi, Basil."

Chip cleared his throat. "We…uh…have another letter for you."

The tan mouse raised an eyebrow and flicked his tail once. Clearly, he had already known that.

"Prince Mickey asked us to wait for a response." Chip nodded for Dale to give the university student the letter.

Curiosity written all over the university student's face, Basil accepted the letter from the red-nosed chipmunk. He opened the letter, reading through it once, twice, and again. His ears drooped a little more with each subsequent reading.

"And your answer?" Chip prompted, knowing he sounded cold and hating it.

"Tell him…that I understand and wish him luck."

The two chipmunks nodded and pressed the "Auto-Return" button on their communicators.

Even as the dorm flat dissolved around him, Dale saw Basil pull a different letter—most likely written by himself—out of his pocket, tear it to pieces, and burn it in the fireplace.

* * *

About two years went by. During that time, Mickey struggled to balance his duties as king and Keybearer. If he had thought things were difficult before, he had been sorely mistaken.

It was on a return trip from a forest world that had been attacked by the Heartless that the situation would grow even more complicated.

The king sat in his seat, musing over the latest battle and trying not to move his left shoulder too much. Though Curaga had done wonders in healing the wound he had gained there, it still felt pretty sore. On top of that, he was feeling frustrated. The forest world had been so overrun with Heartless that upon sealing the keyhole, the forest world faded. While others would have said that the world had been destroyed, Mickey had sensed that it was, in fact, sleeping. Once the Heartless had been defeated once and for all, the sleeping world would awaken as if nothing had happened. Yet Mickey knew it would take a long, _long _time for him to finally stop the Heartless.

_'Where are they all coming from?'_ he wondered.

Mage Donald sat in the pilot's seat of the gummi ship _Highwind_ while Knight Goofy sat in the copilot's seat. They had accompanied their friend and king on this past mission, fighting side-by-side with him to protect him. While Mickey appreciated the fact that they cared enough to risk their lives for his sake, some part of his cynical mind kept reminding him that it was partially a requirement: They had to protect the king who just happened to be him.

A sudden shudder throughout the ship jarred Mickey free of his thoughts. "What was that?!"

Goofy turned to face him, worry etched in every feature of his canine face. "It's Monstro!"

Another shudder, and an enormous whale came into view, circling around the gummi ship.

Mickey left his seat and held onto the backs of his friends' chairs, looking over their shoulders at the controls. "This isn't where he usually hunts."

"Probably not enough to eat there right now," Donald grimly commented, trying to maneuver away from the massive whale.

Mickey stumbled back into his seat as Monstro struck them again. As he clicked on his seatbelt, he heard the warning alarms from the instrument panel.

"Donald! We gotta get outta here!" Goofy shouted, readying the laser canons in case they were needed.

"I'm trying! I'm trying!" the duck squawked.

The king gripped the armrests of his seat. He was frightened, yes, but he was mostly trying not to leap out of his seat, shove Donald aside, and pilot the _Highwind_ himself. He bit his tongue to keep it from saying the phrase that would surely surprise Donald and Goofy and break their concentration: "Move over. That's _my _job."

As much as Mickey would _like_ to take control of the gummi ship, he had to leave it in the hands of his friends and hope for the best.

"Hang on!" Donald shouted just before doing a series of turns and loops that nearly made everybody sick.

Monstro's teeth ground against the hull of the _Highwind_ during Donald's wild piloting, but they still escaped uneaten. Monstro's call of frustration never sounded so sweet.

All that remained now were the alarms.

"How bad is it?" Mickey asked.

Goofy checked the controls and moaned. "Bad. We gotta land soon for repairs."

"Donald, what's the nearest world?"

The duck checked the charts and answered, "The world with Hallow Bastion."

The mouse paused for a moment. They needed repairs, but the nearest world might not be willing to provide any sort of shelter through it all. Though his family had once had good relations with the royal family of Hallow Bastion, they had lost contact during his grandfather's reign, and all attempts at regaining contact had failed. Would the royals be willing to help them even though they had not spoken for nearly fifty years?

"Let's land there. Make sure to go as far from people as possible," the king decided.

"Yes, Your Majesty."

If Donald had turned around at that moment, he would have seen Mickey wince at the last two words. Twenty years of life and he still was not used to it. On top of that, he still had not gotten used to the title "King Mickey" even though he had been king for the past two years.

All the while, Mickey's ears kept picking up the most distressing sounds. Whining from the engine that Chip and Dale had never allowed it to make, the squeal from the strain of metal against metal, and a _cha-chunk_ noise that beat like a bad heart worried him. The _Highwind_ sounded as if it were limping to the Hallow Bastion world and that it might not make it.

Fortunately, the ship decided to hold together long enough for them to reach the world. By this time, the noises from the back had increased in number and volume.

"Donald…"

"I'm trying to find a place to set her down, sire!"

"No. Listen."

The duck paused and then gulped. "I need to land her _now!"_

That meant that they may not find a secluded spot after all. The king came to a snap decision.

"Bring her close to Hallow Bastion itself. I'll see if I can re-contact the royal family for permission to land within the castle's boundaries. If not, set her down outside the palace."

Not waiting for a reply, the mouse unbuckled himself and went over to the communications system. Hopefully, they would answer him this time.

"Lord or Lady of the palace Hallow Bastion, this is King Mickey of the Magic Kingdom. My ship is in need of repairs, so I am requesting permission to land within your palace's walls."

He held his breath.

"Your Majesty," a voice answered, "you are welcome to land. I look forward to meeting you."

Something made him hesitate before answering. While the voice was friendly, the king could not help but feel nervous.

However, they did need a place to land, and whoever this person was seemed willing to give them a place to do just that. "I extend my gratitude to you, sir. I shall see you momentarily." Cutting the connection, Mickey turned to Donald. "Land within the palace walls of Hallow Bastion."

"You've got it!"

The ship shuddered again and again as it came in for a landing. However, now the king's anxiety had a new source.

_'Who was that? Is he a member of the royal family here?'_

Mickey's heart told him no. There was something subtle in the stranger's voice that revealed that while he had power, he was no king. But who was he, and where did he get the authority to allow foreign crafts inside the palace walls?

The landing came with a jolt. All three occupants left the ship, Mickey leading.

A man with white hair that fell well past his shoulders smiled at him. Mickey suppressed a shudder as the human's golden gaze fell on him.

"I am King Mickey. Thank you for allowing us to land and repair our ship."

The man smiled a little wider. "You are welcome. My name is Ansem."

* * *

Naturally, Goofy and Donald insisted upon taking care of the repairs themselves while their king rested. Mickey had tried to politely argue, but Ansem had added his own arguments, insisting that the king join him for a talk in the library.

Ansem alone had led the way to the library of Hallow Bastion. Mickey had heard all sorts of stories about the wealth of knowledge contained in this library. Upon entering, he had barely suppressed a whistle at the amount of books and shelves. It rivaled that of the Disney Castle's own library.

"Can I offer you a glass of wine, King Mickey?"

"Yes. Thank you." Mickey took the glass and sipped it but chose mostly to hold it in his hand. "There is an impressive amount of knowledge contained in this one room alone."

His host beamed. "My thanks. My people are very proud of this library."

_'Lesson one of politics: Flattery will get you everywhere,'_ the king thought with a suppressed smile. "And they should be. It seems to hint about just how much they know. If this library is any indication, your people are highly educated."

_"Your_ people seem to have a vast amount of knowledge themselves. After all, not everyone can build a ship like yours. I've only seen that material once before: after a meteor shower."

"You mean the gummi blocks," Mickey said, raising both of his eyebrows.

"Is that what they're called? I had no idea. It truly is a fascinating substance."

The pair continued to talk for hours, and it was not unpleasant conversation. Mickey attempted to worm information about the fate of the royal family out of Ansem, but all he received were faint hints about a revolution. Though why there was a revolution, Mickey was forced to remain ignorant.

At one point, an old woman—presumably the librarian—walked by, shelving books. The mouse king immediately had his eye drawn to her when she looked at him while she tried not to be noticed by Ansem.

She glanced at Ansem and looked back at him with a look of fear.

Before Ansem noticed the librarian, she whisked herself away.

_'Curious. What's going on?'_

Even more curious and what unnerved him was a feeling of broiling Darkness under his feet. The Keyblade begged without words to be summoned so he could pursue the source. It took all of his strength to fight the urge not to summon the Keyblade in front of Ansem. Instinct told him that showing the Keyblade to Ansem would be a _huge_ mistake.

Especially when the man said, "In my research of ancient legends, I have come across mentions of something called a 'Keyblade.'" Those golden, aquiline eyes seemed to bore into the mouse. "Do you know anything about it?"

If he lied, Mickey knew Ansem would be able to tell. But telling the truth seemed like an equally bad idea.

Perhaps if he did not tell the _entire_ truth of what he knew, he could avoid any sort of unpleasantness. "I've only heard pieces of legends, I'm afraid. The Keyblade was a powerful weapon of long ago." A little bit of fudging never hurt anyone. No need for Ansem to know that he was currently hosting a Keybearer. "In one of these legend pieces, the bearer saved the world. In another, he destroyed it."

"Hmm…Interesting. Anything else?"

Ansem's constant pressuring was not helping Mickey's unease. Maybe a lapse in memory was in order. "Something about a place it was connected to. Oh, it's right on the tip of my tongue, but I can't seem to remember it…"

"I remember that in those references to the Keyblade, I also saw references to a place called 'Kingdom Hearts.' Does that help?"

The broiling Darkness beneath the king's feet swelled at the name.

The fur on the back of Mickey's neck bristled.

Taking a calming sip of wine as if pausing to consider the name, Mickey considered how much to say. "Yes. Now that I think about it, that was the place. The Keyblade was the weapon of Kingdom Hearts. I think it was supposed to protect that place, but it really depended on how the wielder used it."

The Keyblade stirred in warning.

_'Quiet…'_ he warned the weapon.

"Fascinating. Do you know anything about Kingdom Hearts itself?"

Warning sirens that echoed those of the _Highwind_ sounded in Mickey's mind. Ansem seemed pleasant enough, but something was off about the entire situation. Instincts honed by close contact with the Keyblade screamed at him to summon the blade and demand an explanation from the man. Yet those same instincts also cautioned him to _not _make that particular decision.

Taking a small breath, Mickey answered, "Very little. There was even less about Kingdom Hearts than there was about the Keyblade."

Not precisely a lie. The amount of information to be found on Kingdom Hearts in the Magic Kingdom was in shorter supply than the amount there was on the Keyblade, but there was certainly more than the mouse would dare tell the man.

"Would you care to share it with me? I'm very interested."

_'I'll bet you are.'_ Mickey was surprised Ansem had not noticed his short fur starting to stand on end and that his tail had stopped swishing due to his unease. Then again, the man was most likely unused to looking for such subtle clues as fur and tails.

"I'm afraid there's not much to tell," the mouse king told Ansem apologetically, forcing his tail to swish down and around his chair leg like a saddened puppy. "All I could ever find out for certain about it was one confusing phrase."

If Ansem took the bait, Mickey would be amazed by his own acting skills.

"What was it?" Those piercing golden eyes grew demanding, that deep voice eager.

_'There are days when I completely and utterly amaze myself.'_ Mickey took a sip of his wine. "That it was the 'heart of all worlds and the source of all hearts.' No one seems to know what that means."

The truth was that he knew more than he let on. He understood that each world had a heart. Sealing away the heart from the Heartless via the Keyholes was what he did with the Keyblade. Kingdom Hearts clearly was the source of the heart of each world along with the heart of each person on each world. Using that knowledge, Professor Ludwig Von Drake had developed a theory that Kingdom Hearts must therefore be a source of all Light _and _Darkness since all hearts—good and evil—passed through it. And that was the simplified version of the theory. The full version had made the young king's head spin.

He also knew that his family owed Kingdom Hearts the throne of the Magic Kingdom.[11] How it exactly happened was lost in the mists of time. Why it had happened, he did not understand. He could not fathom why a realm responsible for all life in the different worlds would take interest in a clan of mice on one particular world and make them rulers over all other creatures, including their natural enemies.

"Is there any hint as to _where_ Kingdom Hearts is?"

The man was no less than obsessed. And the Darkness deep below Mickey's feet was just as obsessed as the man in front of him.

Fortunately, Mickey could say with complete honesty "I have no idea."

Ansem seemed hideously disappointed. He gazed out the window. "It seems that the sun is rising. Perhaps your men have fixed your craft by now."

_'Hope so.'_

Luck was on the king's side, for Donald and Goofy had just completed the last of the repairs: a patch on a fuel line that should last just long enough for them to fly back to Disney Castle.

Yet even as Hallow Bastion disappeared behind them, the king could not help feeling that despite saying so little, he had still said too much.

* * *

A few more years went by. Basil did become a successful private consulting detective known by the name "Basil of Baker Street." He even managed to find a partner: a retired military surgeon named Dr. David Q. Dawson. He had become the Sherlock Holmes of his world in every sense of the title.

But there were some things even Sherlock Holmes or his mouse counterpart could not solve or stop. As time ticked by, people began disappearing, and dark shadows began appearing with glowing yellow eyes. These shadows simply frightened people into staying out of their way at first. But when it became obvious that they were far more dangerous than they seemed and someone actually witnessed them attacking another person, changing that person into another shadow, no one except the boldest of thieves dared venture out after dark.

When one of these shadows was captured and held temporarily for study, one of the scientists discovered (while it was heavily drugged) that it had no heartbeat. The newspapers had immediately pounced on this information, giving them the name "Heartless." Since the coining of that term, it was easy to stir up panic by simply mentioning the word. After all, no one during the study had found a way to destroy the Heartless.

On one cold and wet November night, Basil and Dawson sat in their accustomed chairs by their fireplace. Ever since the start of the Heartless crisis, Dawson had insisted that Basil not go out for investigations at night. It had taken a close call with one of those evil shadows right after dealing with the hellhound of Dartmoor[12] to finally convince him.

A knock on the door interrupted their quiet evening.

"Now who would call at this time of night?" Basil mused aloud, raising an interested eyebrow.

Mrs. Judson instinctively went for the door.

"You don't suppose it could be a trick?" Dawson asked, simultaneously cautioning their landlady.

The kind Scottish woman put her hands on her hips. "They've ne'er gone inside the door, Doctuh! Nor 'ave they ever gone about where there's light, and we've got plenty o' it a' the moment!" With a decisive nod, she continued to the door.

Basil snickered as Dawson shrank down his chair. "You look properly chastened."

"I haven't felt like this since the last time my mother scolded me."

"Now you know how I feel when Mrs. Judson lectures _me!_ Hello! What's this?"

Used to Basil's habit of jumping subjects when something caught his eye, Dawson dropped their original conversation and turned to look at the door to see three cloaked figures enter. He raised both of his eyebrows in alarm when he realized all three had taken great care to keep most of their faces and bodies covered.

However, Basil was keenly interested in the three, no alarmed. It was their feet that had first caught his attention. Only two wore shoes—black and of a make he had only seen once before on one person that he had not seen in years. The third had webbed feet, like a duck's but a normal duck was many times their size. Turning his attention upward, the tallest of the three's snout was sticking out. This snout was dog-like with two teeth sticking out. The one with the webbed feet could not completely hide his duckbill. The one who stood between them had two large, round shapes—most likely ears—mostly hidden under the hood.

"Would you like me to take your cloaks?" Mrs. Judson asked nervously.

"No thanks," the owner of the webbed feet answered in a voice that was nearly indecipherable. "Just a spot to stand by the fi—Hey!"

The middle cloaked figure had started walking towards Basil and Dawson. Automatically, Basil had risen, a soft smile lighting on his lips. He could not possibly be wrong about the identity of this person.

The shorter figure stopped in front of him, tilting his head back a bit to look up at him as he tilted his head down.

"Hello, Prince Mickey. Or rather, _King_ Mickey," Basil greeted.

Dawson gasped and automatically stood, one of the two strangers by the door squawked, but the short figure by Basil simply raised his hands and pushed back his hood, revealing a mouse with abnormally large ears.

The short black-furred mouse certainly held an air of regality about him that had been missing from the King of Bohemia.[13] Yet while the air around him seemed to hum with a power that demanded respect, the mouse himself smiled warmly, dispelling fear from anyone who chose to come to him.

"Hello, Basil. It's been a while. And, yes, it's 'king' now." The look in the short mouse's eyes added silently, "Whether I want to be or not."

Dawson's head snapped back and forth between the detective and this so-called king. "Basil, I hate to sound rude, but _who is he?_ I've never heard of a 'King Mickey' before. What country is he from?"

Perhaps this king had traveled from one of the smaller countries like Bohemia. It might even be so small that the doctor had never heard of it.

And perhaps this king was not so well-known because of his apparent deformity. No other mouse looked like _that._ That would explain the cloak. For a moment, Dawson felt pity.

The black-furred mouse glanced at the doctor before turning an intense black gaze on Basil, a twitch on his lips as if he were trying not to smile. "So you never told."

"I swore not to tell a soul, and I didn't. And I assure you that my friend and associate Dr. Dawson here and the ever-gracious Mrs. Judson—" Basil nodded to the confused landlady "—are most discreet and will also tell no one."

"All right then." The short mouse turned to the landlady. "Mrs. Judson, would you please come and sit down? And, Dr. Dawson, I suggest you sit as well. This may be a bit of a shock."

Mrs. Judson hurried over and sat down in Basil's chair as the detective offered it.

Dawson raised his eyebrows as he sat once more. Whatever the black mouse was going to tell them, apparently it was going to be quite a shock if Basil had offered his favorite chair to someone else.

"Donald, Goofy." The black mouse crooked his finger, and the pair of still-cloaked figures came forward. "Take the hoods off."

"What?!" the barely-intelligible voice squawked.

"But, Your Majesty—!" a new, deeper voice protested.

"Do it." The so-called king narrowed his eyes.

The taller figure raised a pair of gloved hands while the shorter one—barely taller than the so-called king—raised a pair of hands that appeared to be covered in feathers. They removed their hoods.

Mrs. Judson gasped, and Dawson feared that either the lady or he himself would collapse from shock. It was fortunate that this "King Mickey" had asked them to sit down.

Before him stood some sort of dog-person and a duck that seemed to have evolved to be intelligent. Neither of which _should _exist.

The doctor felt a glass pressed into his hand and he automatically lifted it to his lips and drank from it, the bitter taste of brandy cutting through his shock just in time for him to see Basil hand a small glass to poor Mrs. Judson. The detective must have fetched the brandy while they were distracted.

"I apologize for the shock, sir and lady," King Mickey—and Dawson _could_ call him that since it seemed that he had either gone mad or everything he saw and would hear were completely true—said, "but it was the only way to start off my explanation. If I had simply _told _you what I was about to say, well, then you would not only have shipped me off to your version of the madhouse but also my friends and possibly your own friend for going along with it.

"As for where I'm from, my companions and I are from the Magic Kingdom. You've never heard of it because it doesn't exist _on your world. _In contrast, London doesn't exist on mine."

It sounded like something from H.G. Wells. And yet, here was the evidence right in front of them.

"There are many worlds, doctor, Mrs. Judson, and I originally found this one while I was off exploring when I was still a prince. While I was looking around, I literally ran into Basil—" he nodded to the detective "—and then had a rather unpleasant run-in with a cat."

The duck and dog-man's jaws dropped. Obviously, they had not heard this part of the story before now.

"Bloody fool'd never seen a cat before," Basil snickered.

"I'd seen cats, but they were pets or fellow citizens! They'd never tried to _eat_ me before!" the king snapped angrily though he had a small smile on his face. Satisfied that the detective would not interrupt again, he continued, "The long and short version of the story is that first Basil rescued me, and then I had to rescue him when we were cornered by bringing him aboard my gummi ship."

"'Gummi ship?'" Mrs. Judson asked.

"It's the way we travel between worlds, Mrs. Judson. Sort of like how your people use steamships to travel between ports, only more advanced." The king paused, waiting for a second question before continuing. "We became friends, and I came to visit when I could, using a pendant I gave Basil to alert of a possible visit and find out if it was a good time or not."

"Pendant?" Dawson turned to Basil. "You mean that thing around your neck is actually some sort of way of communicating to these people?"

Basil pulled out the familiar necklace. "Guilty?" the detective asked with a nervous smile, shrugging.

"It's actually a bit crude, but it does the job." The king also shrugged. "We tried to stay in contact, but after I became king, I had to stop because of my duties.

"And that leads me to why I am here."

* * *

It sought hearts no matter where they lurked. However, the Master had told it and the others not to enter the doors of the heart owners _yet._ The Master was not ready. The Master still had work to do with the Keyhole.

But when the time came, what a feast there would be! And, even better, the heart of an entire _world_ to feast upon!

As it wandered the streets, searching for hearts not blocked by doors, it felt _The Weapon._

The Weapon destroyed its kind, sending them back to the Beginning Point to reclaim their lost hearts and be reborn. But none of them wanted to go. Hearts were best when eaten, especially when the flavor of terror was in them.

It had to kill the Bearer! Kill him! Steal his heart so The Weapon had nowhere to hide! No matter where the Bearer was, it had to seek, find, tear, and eat!

It followed the scent of The Weapon until it came to one of the heart owners' doors. The Bearer was inside the door.

The Master had said, "Do not enter _yet."_

But the Master had not known The Weapon would be here.

The Master would understand.

* * *

Basil had watched with a smile as Dawson and Mrs. Judson had worked through their shock as Mickey explained things as quickly as possible. Now, however, the detective was disturbed by the serious news that the king had brought with him.

"The Heartless aren't just here?" Basil asked.

The duck—now identified as Mage Donald—swung around to face him. "How did you know what they're called?!"

Well, that was a surprise. "The newspaper coined that term. There was a scientific study done on a shadow creature they managed to capture. Since it didn't have a heartbeat, some idiot decided to call them 'Heartless.' Now everybody panics if you say that word."

"Ironic," Mickey muttered, his smile entirely without humor.

"Ironic or not, you didn't answer my question."

"No, I didn't. But, yes, they are on other worlds. We've been trying to stop the problem for years. It seems they've picked _now_ to target your world. How bad is it getting?"

Basil glanced at Dawson who shook his head. "They're like roaches except these pests you can't kill no matter what you do."

"The worst part is when they take people," Dawson added in. "It's terrible to watch, and there's absolutely nothing you can do to help them. The only thing you _can _do is run and hope to get away."

"No large swarms? What exactly do they look like?" Mickey pressed.

The tan mouse raised an eyebrow. "They don't seem to hunt in large groups. The most anyone's seen is two at a time. And they're small." He motioned with his hands. "Ugly blighters. Ant-like heads with antennae; four limbs, glowing yellow eyes; no real distinguishable features."

"That's strange," Mickey muttered, tail lashing. "The weakest ones don't hunt on their own…"

Basil's focus was so intent on the conversation that he stumbled a little as he jerked to attention when Mrs. Judson screamed **"Heartless!"**

It was the same as all of the others had been. Yet it had come _inside the door._ If they could enter buildings now, nowhere and no one were safe.

Out or reflex, he reached for the revolver he had gained a habit of carrying at all times ever since that attack on Dartmoor. He saw Dawson reach for his own Eley's No. 2[14] at about the same time.

Shooting it would be fruitless of course. Bullets only made Heartless pause for a moment or two before continuing their attack. The scientists had been lucky to find a dosage of tranquilizer that would even _temporarily_ sedate a Heartless. With hope or a bit of luck, perhaps they could frighten off the thing.

_Blam! Blam! _Two shots fired nearly simultaneously, but the Heartless jumped over the shots. It was too focused on whichever of them was its first target.

Basil adjusted his aim, mentally ramming down flashbacks to that night on Dartmoor. Whatever happened tonight would happen.

_Blam! _The Heartless landed and leaped again, Basil's shot missing it by millimeters. The detective cursed as it flew towards the group, its trajectory aimed towards Mickey.

"Mickey, look out!" he warned, twisting around to adjust his aim as Dawson fired a shot of his own.

A flash of gold dazzled Basil's eyes. Mickey, rather than backing away, stepped forward to meet the threat. He swept his arm forward, something golden held in his hand that Basil's eyes—watery from the sudden brilliance—could not identify.

The golden something sliced neatly through the Heartless, cutting it in two. It exploded into a small cloud of shadow before fading.

The Heartless was gone, defeated.

Basil lowered his weapon and blinked his eyes rapidly, trying to clear them. He had been staring right at _something_ when it appeared, but what was it?

After a few more seconds, the detective's eyes had cleared enough to see Mage Donald and Knight Goofy standing beside their king. Obviously, the pair had rushed there to make sure he would not need help. Their eyes were currently making sure that the attack had been just the one Heartless.

But it was Mickey himself that Basil's eyes latched onto. In his old friend's hand was what looked like a large golden key, obviously the source of the golden light that had temporarily relieved him of his sight. It must have also been the same thing that destroyed the Heartless moments ago.

_'And I thought that Mickey had no more surprises for me,' _the detective thought ruefully.

He opened his mouth in an attempt to find something to say. He finally decided on "You can destroy them."

Mickey nodded, looking down at the key in his hand. "That's right." He lifted the key. "This is the Keyblade, the weapon that all Heartless fear. And it also seems to attract them. Sorry about that.

"This is the part of the other thing that I needed to talk to you about. I need your help."

_"My_ help? We're the ones who should be asking for _yours,"_ Basil pointed out.

"And you'll get it, but I have to go to other places first."

Basil narrowed his eyes. Why was Mickey leaving when he saw the problem? If he had the power to stop these things, why did he not do so?

"Don't be mad at me, Basil," the black mouse pleaded. "This visit was partly to see how bad the problem was. There are a lot of other worlds out there whose Heartless infestation is worse than yours that need help right away. Donald and Goofy have magic to destroy these things with—which, unfortunately, you don't have—but the Keyblade is the only way to keep them from coming _back _to a world."

Before Basil could snap something he would regret, Dawson stated, "I'm afraid I don't understand. They can come back?"

"On every world, there's a Keyhole which leads both to the heart of that world and, possibly, to Kingdom Hearts, the heart of all worlds and the source of all hearts. An open Keyhole, like yours, can let Heartless pass through Interspace—the space between these worlds—to your world. They'll slowly eat away at the Keyhole and the heart of that world, destroying it.

"The Keyblade is the only way to _lock_ these Keyholes. Since I seem to be the only Keybearer, it's my job to seal the Keyholes before these worlds are destroyed. Of course, sometimes I'm a little later than I'd like to be, so the world I lock sleeps until the Heartless are finally defeated for good." Mickey met Basil's eyes. "I really have to prioritize on which world I have to lock when, and I hate doing that. But if I was _just_ the Keybearer, I'd lock every Keyhole I came across."

"But you have a kingdom to run on top of that," Basil put in, his earlier anger calming. "You have to do what's best for the people of those worlds and your own people."

Mickey looked relieved that _somebody_ understood. "I need your help because I can't find your world's Keyhole."

With the new knowledge he had recently received, the detective's blood ran cold.

"You can't find it?" Mrs. Judson asked shakily, speaking up for the first time since the Heartless attack.

"No, ma'am, I can't. Normally, I can sense a Keyhole and what shape it's in as soon as I step onto a world. It comes from bearing the Keyblade, I guess. Yet, for some bizarre reason, your Keyhole is invisible to me. I've even tried using the Keyblade on top of my own senses but I still can't sense it."

"So you want Dawson and I to see if we can find it on our own," Basil reasoned. "That way those other worlds don't have to suffer while you go looking."

Smiling slightly, the king nodded. "Exactly. Besides, if I tried to find it, every Heartless in the area would find me. It seems the Keyblade sends up a nice flare everywhere I go. You two will be practically invisible…except for those things sensing your hearts."

"But we can run away and hide better than you or your friends could," Dawson put in. "In spite of Basil's deductive powers, we're simply ordinary mice. If they won't pass through anyone's doors without the added impetus of your Keyblade, we're still safe."

Basil nodded his agreement. "What does a Keyhole look like?"

"Oh, it's nothing spectacular." Mickey waved his hand carelessly, the very same hand that had held the Keyblade moments before, which left Basil wondering where it had gone. "It looks like a standard keyhole. Circular top, triangular-shaped bottom attached to it. The only problem is the size. Some can be small, some are freakishly large. But you'll know it when you see it. It shimmers around the edges. You've seen one Keyhole, you've seen them all."

Dawson gave a small snort as Basil chuckled, "For something so important, you would think it would be a bit more decorative."

"And why would it be?" Mrs. Judson challenged. "It's nae very practical if no one sees it most o' the time."

Basil shook his head, chagrined. "Trust a Scotswoman to point that out."

"About time someone put you in your place." The king paused. "Sounds like the rain's getting worse."

"Then you gentlemen had better stay put for the night," the landlady ordered. "No sense going out and getting yourselves sick."

_'Mrs. Judson rules the household with an iron fist,'_ the detective mused with a small smile. _'Royalty or no royalty.'_

"Mrs. Judson, we can get back to our ship just fine without going out in the rain—" Mage Donald protested.

"I think it'd be an excellent idea," Mickey cut in. "Thank you for the offer, Mrs. Judson."

The landlady smiled and whisked herself off to make some sort of preparations for three guests.

Basil smiled, sitting down in his favorite chair and motioning towards the couch. "Well, gentlemen, sit down. Hopefully, nobody else will come for a visit tonight."

* * *

Several hours later, Dawson had turned in along with Mrs. Judson. Since the landlady had not had any rooms open for the night, Donald and Goofy lie curled up on the floor, covered in blankets with a pillow under each head. Mickey had insisted that he would join the pair in the sitting room rather than steal either Basil or Dawson's bed, so Donald and Goofy had forced him into taking the couch.

In that late hour, only Basil and Mickey were awake, sitting on the window seat, gazing out at the stars.

"How's your wife?" Basil asked softly.

Mickey jerked then relaxed. "I can't put anything past you, can I?"

"Your fingers gave you away. Apparently, you _do_ use wedding rings on your planet. Who is she?"

"Minnie," he sighed.

The detective gave him a sidelong glance. "I suppose that it's not marital bliss."

"Well, it's definitely not 'happily ever after.' I feel like the entire marriage is a farce. She loves me and even loved me before our marriage, and I know I should be happy about that but I'm not. For one thing, she might not have married me if her father hadn't given me her hand to seal an alliance. For another, I don't love her like she loves me."

Without looking up, he knew he had Basil's full attention. Even after years of separation, his body language had remained the same: Basil was sitting up, and his tail had paused in mid-swish. It was good to know that some things had never changed.

"She loves me like a good wife should, I guess. She loves me enough to want to be with me for the rest of her life. But the way I love her is like how I'd love a sister. I love her dearly, but it feels awkward being _married_ to her. I thought that after a year or two, I'd either return her love or get used to it, but nothing. I don't resent her but I hate having to playact for my entire kingdom that I love her as much as she loves me. I'm lying to everybody, especially myself."

"If I could help you, I would, but marriage and love are two things that lie outside my realm of expertise. Still, if you were not a king, I might've suggested that you somehow find away to kindly tell her that the marriage was not working out and then annul it before both of you became miserable. I've seen too many cases of a marriage gone sour which ended in violence. But to annul a marriage as a king, that's an entirely different matter. You'd insult her father who could turn his wrath upon you and your kingdom."

"And I really don't need that right now," Mickey moaned, rubbing his temples. "How'd you get the politics that easily? From what I remember, you _hate_ anything to do with politics."

"Myerricroft. I pay more attention to all of that political talk of his than he thinks I do. Of course, I tend to push most of it out of my mind as soon as possible. I don't want to waste space."[15] Basil tapped the side of his head.

"You're awful." Mickey shook his head. "On top of the political problems, I have other problems to deal with."

"No heirs to the throne." Before Mickey could even ask, Basil added, "A family mouse, no matter what station he was bred into or situation with his wife, tends to speak of his children at least _once _in a conversation. You haven't done so all night. In addition to that, carrying on the family line is very important to royalty. No matter how bad the marriage is going, you would be trapped if only because of lack of heirs."

"Right again. Three years and nothing. The Heartless situation is getting more dangerous by the moment, so I have to be sure there's _someone _to come after me. Minnie can rule until they're old enough, but the line has to continue." He shook his head. "To paraphrase a magician of my acquaintance, one big royal mess."

"An apt description." Basil paused. "Mickey, why'd you choose to spend the night? You could have transported yourself out of here."

"I figured Mrs. Judson and Dawson had had enough shocks for one night. I didn't want to give either one of them a heart attack by pushing their nerves one step too far. You were looking for the bizarre when I met you so you didn't have that much of a problem getting on with your life."

"Point taken. I assume your original plan was to leave and transport yourselves once you were outside of the view of the flat?"

"Correct. But Mrs. Judson didn't seem like she was going to take 'no' for an answer. Strange how _she _isn't royalty. She certainly has the commanding tone down."

Both of them laughed quietly, trying not to awaken anyone.

Mickey yawned. "I think it's about time we get to sleep, or neither of us is going to be in any shape to do _anything_ tomorrow."

"Hmm. I'm going to stay up for a few more minutes. Goodnight."

"Goodnight."

* * *

Basil watched Mickey curl up on the couch and close his eyes. Judging by the way the other mouse breathed, he had fallen asleep instantly.

The detective turned his attention outside. Due to the clouds, he could not see any stars. And as he reviewed all of the information he had been given that night in his mind, it unnerved him.

There were fewer stars than when he had been a child. Over the past few years, he had seen stars flicker and either go out or brighten again. Now he knew that those specific stars had been other worlds. In a way, he had witnessed the struggle between Mickey and the Heartless over the fate of a world.

Would his own world be a star that would flicker and brighten or a star that would flicker and die in someone else's night sky? It all depended on whether or not he and Dawson could find that elusive Keyhole. He certainly hoped they were up to the task.

Looking back at the mouse he strangely still knew intimately despite their years of separation, he rose from his seat. With silent footsteps, he walked to the door of his bedroom.

"Basil?" Dawson quietly called.

Hand on the doorknob, the detective turned to the doctor who was peeking out of his own bedroom. "Yes, Dawson?"

The doctor paused as if considering his words. Then he glanced at Mickey as if gesturing with his eyes. "Be careful."

It was a cautionary statement that the detective had heard many times before, but why had Dawson chosen to say it now?

Basil cocked his head to one side, trying to reason out his friend's logic. Dawson had glanced at Mickey. Perhaps the doctor meant for him to be careful about the mission the king had given them. It seemed like a logical enough explanation.

Finally, he nodded. "I will be."

Entering his room, Basil shut the door as Dawson sighed.

* * *

It was a plan that anyone casually observing them would have said was born of pure madness.

After a week of fruitless searching, Basil and Dawson had deliberately ventured out after dark to find a Heartless and, hopefully, follow it back to where it normally lurked during the daylight hours. The Heartless most likely knew the location of the Keyhole. Now the two mice had to trust to luck that one of the vile creatures would lead them right to it.

Part of the problem of following a Heartless was that the Heartless might sense them and then try to attack them. Hanging back and following the glowing eyes of the shadow creature helped, but sooner or later the two mice would be in the center of where it stayed with its brethren. Neither mouse had any sort of weapon that could destroy the creatures if they came in a swarm, just one communications device that could summon help if they were in serious trouble, yet that help would be some time in coming.

Ducking behind another building, seeking shelter in the building's shadow, Dawson glanced at his taller friend. The Heartless they were currently tailing was meandering towards the Parliament building and the mighty clock tower of Big Ben. The doctor raised an eyebrow, jerking his head towards the buildings. He saw Basil shudder slightly but shrug. Apparently, he was not the only one having Big Ben flashbacks.[16]

On a silent, ungiven signal, the pair made a dash to the shadow of a public bench. In the silence of the normally-busy city, their footsteps echoed so loudly that Dawson was surprised that the Heartless had not turned around to investigate. Upon reaching the protective yet menacing shadow of the bench, they waited as the Heartless paused, antennae bobbing, head swinging this way and that.

"Keep going," Dawson mouthed. "Keep going…Nobody's here…"

Five agonizing seconds later, the Heartless continued on its way towards the Parliament building and Big Ben.

Dawson felt Basil's breath on his ear as the detective murmured, "Big Ben."

"Not Parliament?" the doctor hissed back, not daring to take his eyes off of the vile creature.

"Too crowded in daylight. No place to hide."

"Oh. Suppose too bright, as well. Not enough shadows."

"Exactly." The doctor waited as Basil paused. "The Keyhole _must_ be in Big Ben. Why else would they gather there?"

An entirely logical statement, but it did not make Dawson feel any better. The knot that had formed in the pit of his stomach ever since the king had requested that they try and find the Keyhole grew tighter. "Basil…"

"Hmm?"

"I have a bad feeling about this."

The pair met each other's eyes. Basil never offered to let Dawson go back to the flat, and Dawson never declined the offer. Instead, it was a simple, unspoken promise between them from a two year friendship and partnership: "Whatever happens, I have your back."

Once more, the pair darted free of their hiding place into the open, heading towards Big Ben. By good fortune, they made it to the entrance at the foot of the clock tower, entering into the darkened structure with their weapons drawn.

Dawson swallowed, stamping down his fear as far as he could. He had faced situations in Afghanistan that had been terrifying, but nothing could quite compare to this. There were so many shadows where the enemy could lurk. And this enemy could disguise itself as just another shadow, so there would be no warning until the Heartless was on his chest and had started to tear out his heart.

He gripped his weapon a bit more tightly, gritting his teeth. He had to focus. They were there on reconnaissance. Their job tonight was to find the Keyhole and leave.

Still, he was looking forward to when they left Big Ben behind.

The human staircase would require them to holster their weapons in order to ascend it. Also, it was encased in far too much shadow for Dawson's liking. Apparently, Basil did not like the amount of shadow on the stairs either.

"I suggest we take a shortcut," Basil muttered directly in the doctor's ear.

Dawson glanced to the side and saw all of the beams that held the structure up along with the mechanisms that kept the clock running. "You can't be serious. Those are plenty of places of those things to hide."

"True, but we can keep at least one hand on a weapon while we climb."

There was no suitable argument to that, so Dawson followed Basil's example as the detective leapt onto a low gear. Once or twice, the doctor thought he spied glowing eyes out of the corner of his eye, but when he looked, he saw nothing.

Despite calling it a shortcut, their ascent was slow. Sometimes, they ran into a dead end and needed to backtrack. All of the while, the hair on the back of their necks bristled with the knowledge that _something_ was watching them.

At last, they reached the platform at the very top, both out of breath.

"I think…both of us…are getting our…exercise for tonight…" Basil muttered as he tried not to pant, leaning over the edge to get a view of what was going on below them.

"As do…I…" Dawson froze as Basil stiffened. "What is it?"

"Look."

The doctor leaned his head over the edge and stared. "I have a hunch that it's not supposed to look like that."

It appeared that the pair had overshot their mark and had ended up _above_ the Keyhole. Imbedded in one of the four faces of Big Ben, it probably would have looked majestically over all of the East side of London when it was visible. Yet the basic shape of the Keyhole had been distorted. The circular top had been crushed; the triangular bottom, warped. The shimmering outline looked positively hellish for it looked as if it had been made from molten lava.

But the surprises did not stop there. A few seconds later, someone appeared in front of the Keyhole. A mouse-sized human being with silvery hair and aquiline eyes hovered in front of the Keyhole, smiling devilishly at it. The Heartless oozed out of the shadows and gathered around him.

"They're not attacking him," Dawson whispered.

"Must be their leader."

To the two mice's horror, more and more Heartless emerged from the shadows. These Heartless were not always the small creatures they had seen before. Bigger and nastier creatures kept appearing from the shadows.

"Come forth!" the human called to the Keyhole, spreading his arms wide.

"This can't be good," Basil muttered, ears flattening against his skull.

The Keyhole stretched and warped more as a large hand exited it followed by an even larger body. The massive creature left the Keyhole, leaving it more distorted than before.

"Basil, do you think that—?"

"—that Mickey's been tricked, and now we're in trouble? Most definitely."

Dawson watched as Basil slipped out the pendant and gave it four quick presses. While the king had told them to give the pendant five taps when they found the Keyhole, King Mickey had said to use four taps if it was an emergency.

A clanking noise from behind them made Dawson spin around, Basil following his lead just half a heartbeat later.

A Heartless in armor had found them. It raised a clawed hand.

**"****Dawson****, look out!"**

* * *

It was not that Mickey did not really _know_ anything about the tea merchants' want of a tariff on foreign tea. The fact was that he really did not _care._ The lack of a tariff had served everyone just fine until a bunch of local upstarts had decided that their disgusting products were not selling just because their foreign competitors—who had a better quality product that, incidentally, cost more—were pricing their product too low.

Now the king was stuck in the middle of what _should_ have been, at most, a thirty-minute meeting for the second hour, and it looked like it would drag on into a possible third hour.

Whoever said that he could not wait to be king needed to get a reality check.

_'Make them go away…'_ Mickey pleaded in his mind, rubbing his temples even though nobody noticed because they were too caught up in their arguments and egos.

Cold lightning blasted his heart, emanating from the pendant around his neck and under his shirt. He gasped, gripping at his chest.

"Sire?" one of the merchants asked, all of the arguments ceasing at once.

Rising to his feet, the king said, "I'm afraid I'm going to have to postpone the rest of this meeting to another time, gentlemen. Forgive me."

The tea merchants did not argue as their king left. It was well-known throughout the kingdom that Mickey, as the Keybearer, would need to leave at a moment's notice when a Keyhole cried out for help. There was no point in arguing for a little more time.

As soon as he was out of the merchants' sight, the king called for his captain of the guard and head mage. He also called for the Basic Gummi to be prepared rather than the _Highwind_. The Basic Gummi still had all of the information needed for the warp jump and—if the worst should happen—it would provide a bit more room for refugees, so Donald would not have to strain himself as much when opening portals.

Donald and Goofy met him at the Basic Gummi, and the three of them strapped themselves in.

"Donald, we need to initiate a warp jump to Basil's world."

"But we don't have—"

"The computer has the information."

"Yes, Your Majesty."

The reliable vessel shot free of the castle exit and warped to the designated world. Upon reaching orbit, they noticed that the world had started to darken.

Mickey slammed his fist down on the armrest of his seat. "We've been tricked! It's worse off than I thought!"

"But where's the Keyhole?!" Goofy asked, running scans.

The king closed his eyes and reached _out_ with his senses. The world felt strange, distorted. It reflected the Keyhole's condition, no doubt. Yet where was it? He was close to finding it, but its exact location was still hidden. "Can you locate Basil?"

"No, not—There! The clock tower!"

"Then we start looking there."

A quick transport into Big Ben revealed madness. A swarm of Heartless of various strengths bombarded them upon their solidifying.

The king snarled and sliced three in half in one blow. "Get out of my way!"

"Graviga!" Donald shouted, casting the spell to flatten a good number of them.

Meanwhile, Goofy plowed through with his shield, making a path for the king and the mage. Yet no matter how many Heartless the three destroyed, more popped up to replace them.

In the midst of the melee, Mickey's senses finally found the Keyhole. "Donald, Goofy, it's here! The Keyhole is here!"

"Oh, _great!"_ Donald squawked. "Just the place for it, too!"

"Isn't it though?" a new voice laughed.

The three immediately stood so no one's back was not covered. Their eyes scanned the Heartless about them which had suddenly backed away.

"I don't like the looks of this," Goofy moaned.

A familiar figure levitated down from the ceiling. To Mickey, it seemed like he was some sort of spider descending on his prey.

"Ansem?" Mickey asked, not lowering the Keyblade for a moment.

The man smiled. "Precisely. It's been a while, King Mickey, hasn't it?"

Something in the mouse's mind clicked, and he ground his teeth together. "You're the leader of the Heartless. You made sure I couldn't sense the Keyhole to this world."

"Guilty on both counts. The second was a bit of an experiment." Ansem swept his hand towards the ailing Keyhole. "Go ahead and lock it if you can. This experiment has come to an end."

Not trusting Ansem but not going to surrender a possible chance to save a world, Mickey stepped forward and raised the Keyblade. The familiar light shot free from the tip and struck the Keyhole.

_'Please lock. Please, oh please, lock.'_

The Keyhole warped even more. To Mickey's senses, it continued to rot and decay, yet the process was speeding up thanks to the Keyblade's attempts to lock it. Hastily, he stopped.

The Keyhole would not lock.

This world was doomed.

_'No…'_

Ansem laughed, knowing that he had won this round and that there was nothing the king could do about it. He _was _Darkness, and there was nothing that a pitiful creature allied with Light could ever hope to accomplish against his wishes.

What the man could not know was that before sinking into grief that the mouse king would become very, _very _angry.

The Keyblade flashed gold just as Mickey whirled around and attacked. The strike hit Ansem right in the middle, sending the man backwards.

**"Augh!"**

Mickey had been knocked back by the backlash of his own hit. Landing in a crouch, he prepared for a second attack when a gunshot somewhere to his left and below drew his attention.

**"Basil, left!"** Dawson's voice called.

Mickey looked back and forth from the general direction of the call to Ansem. The man had risen to his feet, still stunned that he had been struck and actually _hurt_ but ready for a fight if it should happen. Still, Mickey had his friends to worry about.

"Donald, I need you to go start opening portals to Traverse Town. Goofy, land the gummi ship and start loading people onboard. These people need to be evacuated."

"But, Your Majesty!" two voices protested at the same time.

"I'll be along soon enough. If I'm not there in five minutes, leave without me."

"But—!"

**"Do it!"**

The mouse king did not even look to see if his friends had obeyed their orders. Instead, he focused on Ansem. Anytime now the Heartless would attack again thanks to their master's command.

"I'm warning you, Ansem. I will not rest until I've personally made sure that you're gone for good," he snarled. "And there will be nowhere in the universe you can hide from me."

The Heartless attacked, and Mickey ran towards the ledge leading towards the seemingly endless amount of gears, slicing as he went. He leaped, landing on a gear just long enough to regain his footing before jumping off again as he searched for Basil and Dawson.

When he finally found them, he saw them standing back to back, surrounded by a sea of Heartless.

* * *

"Dawson?"

"Yes, Basil?"

"It's been a pleasure working with you."

"The feeling is certainly mutual."

Looking down the barrel of his revolver at a sea of black and glowing yellow eyes certainly did not inspire confidence in the detective. He and Dawson had managed to hold off the creatures thus far, but their ammunition was running low, and the little creatures seemed to be beginning to understand that bullets did not harm them.

Reviewing his life up until that moment, he could look back on it with few regrets. While he may not have done _everything_ he had wanted to do in life, he had scratched quite a few items off of his list. A cold comfort considering the fact that once he had his heart removed, he, technically, was not dead, just a mindless, heart-eating creature enslaved by Darkness.

What a future to look forward to. He preferred death.

**"Graviga!"**

One area of Heartless to Basil's right and near the back flattened down and dissolved into a puff of smoke. Immediately, he and Dawson snapped their heads around to look. Flashes of gold hacking into the Heartless was certainly a welcome sight.

What was not a welcome sight was an overly bold Heartless that decided to use the distraction to attack one of Basil's few friends. It was by chance that the detective saw the glowing eyes make their move out of the corner of his eye.

**"****Dawson****, look out!"**

Basil shoved backwards, sending Dawson to the floor. The Heartless sailed over the doctor's head and slammed into the detective, forcing both of them into a roll. One of the larger Heartless—an armored one—helped the smaller creature force the detective on his back.

**"Basil!"**

_Blam! Blam! Blam!_ Dawson fired three shots in an attempt to frighten off the two Heartless. The smaller one ran, but the larger one remained where it was.

Basil tried to kick it off, but the armored Heartless kept him pinned to the floor. He vaguely heard Mickey's outraged and agonized cry as the Heartless brought its clawed hand up.

_'Oh no! Oh _**please **_no!'_

Terror gripped his heart. This was the end of a brief but fruitful life and career. His green eyes widened as he struggled vainly to get free.

The clawed hand came down and plunged into his chest. Dark energy crackled as the hand reached for his heart. The detective screamed in agony as the burning, shocking cold encircled his heart.

His body spasmed out of reflex to the pain, and he automatically brought his hands up to grasp at that unforgiving arm in an attempt to keep the Heartless from removing his heart.

_'You can't take it! It's _**mine!'**

The Heartless grasped what it sought, but the detective fought back, lashing out even as his own body failed to respond precisely as he wished due to pain. It sent a wave of dark energy along the heart, perhaps to stun its victim, but this seemed to encourage the heart to close itself off from the Heartless.

Every once in a while, there are hearts that are too strong to be taken. They encase themselves in a special shell, changing their owner as well as themselves. On that day, that particular heart made that change.

The pain began to recede from Basil's body as the Heartless finally removed from his body, of all things, a strange, emerald green gem.

And then there was grey oblivion.

* * *

The confused armored Heartless that held an emerald green gem in its hand met a very quick end by a stroke of the Keyblade. Mickey panted as he snapped his free hand forward and caught the gem.

Turning to Dawson who was still managing to hold some of the little ones at bay, he said, "We have to get out of here. This world's being evacuated."

Dawson stared at the king and then glanced at the spot where Basil's body had vanished mere seconds after the gem had been drawn from it. "But what about—?"

"Basil will be all right." _'I hope.'_ "We need to get to the gummi ship. Come on!"

The mad dash down the gears passed as a blur to the king. He did not even remember reaching the gummi ship and taking off. The next thing he did remember was looking down at the world and watching it darken, implode, and form a warp hole.

The refugees all stared at the king, lost and afraid. Their homes and businesses had just been destroyed. They did not even know _where _they were going to.

Taking a deep breath, Mickey spoke soothingly, "My name is King Mickey of the Magic Kingdom. It is my shame to say that while we attempted to save your world, it was overrun by the Heartless. You are currently on your way to Traverse Town where you will be given some of the local currency as reparations to build homes and shops. I know it will be difficult to rebuild your lives elsewhere, but I must ask you to try if only so that no one will forget that wonderful world you came from."

_'And I am so sorry,'_ he added silently. _'I'm sorry I couldn't get there in time. No amount of munny, no amount of time can ever pay for what happened here.'_

The refugees must have been too tired or too frightened or too lost in their misery to be angry at the king, for none of them yelled at him. He was allowed to sit back down in his seat unmolested.

He clasped the emerald green gem tightly, fighting down tears. He had been a fool a thousand times over. He should never have relegated the duty of finding the Keyhole to someone else. When he could not sense the Keyhole, he should have tried to find it immediately. That should have been the immediate tip-off that something was wrong.

And Ansem…

Ansem was his fault. He had handed the doom of all of the worlds over to the man by talking to him that one night. What could he have done that night instead? The best answer was "never have called the palace in the first place," but barring that, what should he have done?

_'I may as well have destroyed that world myself.'_

Clutching the Summons gem—for truly, that was what this emerald green gem was—tightly in his fist, Mickey felt something emanate off of it: fear.

* * *

Basil hovered in misty grey space. He felt strange, to say the least. To be more specific, he felt stronger as if he had some sort of power that he had never had before.

As to where he was, within seconds of coming, he knew that as if he had known that all of his life:

The Realm of the Summons.

It was a realm of neither Light nor Darkness. It was the place where Summons came and rested before being called back to the mortal plane to fight for either good or evil. And whether or not he _would _fight for good or evil was, apparently, not his choice. It all depended upon who summoned him since he, as a Summons, was as neutral as the grey mists about him.

For the first several minutes (hours?), things had been fine if not a little boring. A thread connected to his wrist had anchored him to some point outside of the Realm, most likely his home world, which held the mists at bay.

The mists were the only thing that he had to worry about. Even though they would give power, energy, and healing, they would take away as well if he did not have that anchor. As long as that thread stayed connected to him and his world, he had nothing to fear.

But suddenly, the thread snapped and faded.

His anchor, his world, was gone.

"Oh no," he moaned.

Grey mists circled around his mind and memories. He huddled into a small ball, clutching his head, as his memories—starting with his most recent ones—began to have grey form around the edges. The mists, in return for giving him power, were taking away everything he had ever known.

He tried to focus on the Heartless that had tried to steal his heart away from him, tried to focus on what color the gem that had been removed from his chest was, tried to focus on who had been standing with him when the Heartless had crowded around him during that last stand. But the invading grey mist made the memory cloudy as it began to steal his past away from him.

Instead of becoming a Heartless, he would become a mindless Summons. Even if he could not have chosen on whose side he fought, at least he could have been able to think for himself. Which fate was worse he had no idea.

One hand drifted from his head to the pendant around his neck, clutching at it like a lifeline.

* * *

Mickey's pendant radiated a faint echo of the chill of fear. With his free hand, he reached up and slipped the pendant free, grasping it in his hand.

_'It's going to be okay,'_ he soothed silently, trying to push past his own grief to calm the source of that fear. _'I'll do what I can to help you. I promise.'_

He saw Dawson watching him from his own seat next to Mrs. Judson. The king offered a weak smile to both of them before returning his attention to Basil, the obvious source of the fear.

_'I don't know how I can help you, but—'_

_I can._

The voice in his head made the king jerk in his seat. Rarely did he hear that voice in his head, and it threw him off-balance whenever he did hear it.

_Let me do what I must, Keybearer. Trust me._

Silently, Mickey consented. If the voice said it could do something to help, then he trusted it.

After all, the Keyblade had saved his tail more times than he could count.

* * *

A soothing presence that felt like Mickey had provided a tentative link to the mortal plane. With it, the grey mist's choke hold on his memories had loosened, giving him more time to think of some way to establish a more permanent link.

The link had to be anchored to an object, not a person, since a person's memory of events could change with time. In order to not affect a Summons's memory, an anchor would have to change very little. Objects that lasted as long as worlds did fulfilled that purpose since they had a tendency to change little with time.

_Sherringford Basil, I will provide your anchor._

Basil jerked in shock at the voice laced with gold. "Who are you?"

_I am never far from the king, just as you will be. He calls me when he needs me._

The detective, in spite of his fear, felt a touch of awe. "The Keyblade."

_Yes._

"Why?"

_Your destiny, like mine, is intertwined with his. If your mind is lost to the Realm of the Summons, you are useless._

"Nice to know I'm wanted."

There was a shimmer of gold in his head as the voice laughed. Seconds later, a golden thread had attached itself to his wrist and all of the grey mists that had started to invade his mind had been banished.

_You are bound to me, and I am bound to him. His fate is ours._

The powerful, whispering voice retreated from Basil's mind, leaving him alone in the grey Realm of the Summons with its chilling words.

* * *

Standing on the shore of the lake surrounding a little, seemingly broken-down cottage, Mickey frowned. The stones that led to the cottage had been spelled to move back and forth, requiring anyone who sought to reach the cottage to jump from stone to stone in perfectly timed leaps. If that person missed a jump, he would have to swim back to his starting point and begin again, for the shore on the other side had been spelled to prevent people from simply swimming across.

The king gazed at his companions. Though tired, Goofy and Donald certainly could make the jumps. It was debatable whether or not Dawson could make it, but poor Mrs. Judson would have a terrible time of it all even though it would be a bit easier since Dawson had convinced her to leave Basil's violin and his old medical bag—treasures that she had managed to save in her haste to leave 221B Baker Street—behind in the gummi ship. The other two mice had insisted on coming, desperate to know what had become of the detective.

No, they would have to use other means to reach the little house. Gliding across was not an option. Donald and Goofy had not accompanied Mickey on his brief diplomatic trip to the Neverland world, and neither had Dawson and Mrs. Judson.

An ice spell was risky, for the lake had been spelled specifically to make any freezing spell dissipate rather quickly. It would have to be cast as they ran across. Even though the mage would willingly volunteer to perform the task, Donald was exhausted from casting all of those exit portals. Goofy had some magic, but it might not be enough to perform this task. Mickey would have to do it himself. Not that he minded.

"Everyone, pair up, get behind me, and get ready to run. I suggest that you and Mrs. Judson follow directly behind me, doctor."

Glancing behind him, he saw Dawson take Mrs. Judson's hand as they took their position behind him. Goofy and Donald stood just behind the older couple.

He turned his attention to the lake. "Blizzaga!"

The surface of the lake in front of him froze, and he broke into a run, holding the spell and forming a path of ice. He and the others skidded a bit as they ran, but, fortunately, nobody slipped into the water. He could hear the counterspells on the lake going to work on the ice path behind them, cracking the ice.

He reached the solid ground of the shore of the small island the cottage rested on. He moved out of the way as Mrs. Judson and Dawson followed behind. The last of the ice path broke and melted just as Goofy and Donald jumped off.

"I've never seen anything like _that_ before," Dawson muttered, staring at the now-pristine lake. "Does the spell not last long?"

"No, there are all sorts of spells on that lake to stop people from doing what we just did. You can't make an ice path and just stroll across."

Turning around, Mickey could see the boarded-up front door. Turning to his left, he followed the rounded shape of the building to find a green tapestry which was torn at the bottom. He pushed this aside and motioned.

"After you," he insisted.

The landlady nodded her head as graciously as any queen and entered with the doctor. Mickey looked up when Goofy took hold of the tapestry.

"Go ahead, Your Majesty," the knight insisted.

Deciding to not argue for once (especially since Donald was giving him _that look_), the king entered. Donald and Goofy followed silently behind him.

A small, brown owl was currently sitting on a stack of books, harassing Dawson and Mrs. Judson. "And _why_ do you think that Merlin would want to help you two? Hmm?"

"Archimedes, behave yourself!" an old man in a blue robe with a long white beard scolded. "Come now, what seems to be the trouble?"

"Merlin, did it ever occur to you that these two might be working for the Heartless and whoever their master is?" Archimedes snapped, turning his head to glare at the wizard. "How did they get across the water by magic when they don't have any themselves?" The owl flew up in Merlin's face. Flying a little higher for a second, he allowed himself to briefly fall as he used one wing to point with his primaries. "How do you explain that?"

"I think _I_ can explain that, Archimedes," Mickey said, interrupting the argument. "I got them across."

The wizard and the owl snapped their heads around to stare at him.

"King Mickey! My apologies for not greeting you," Merlin said, bowing. "Please, do come in."

Archimedes opened and closed his beak a few times before narrowing his eyes suspiciously. "Are we sure that this is the _real_ King Mickey? These _are _dark times. Their master could have figured out how to disguise a Heartless to fool us."

"Oh, Archimedes, stop being difficult!"

Mickey smirked. "You flew off when the hawk drove the Wart to Mim's."

**"What?!"** Merlin demanded, obviously not privy to this piece of information.

The owl actually squeaked before flying hastily off into a little birdhouse, shutting its round door behind him. "I'm convinced!" echoed from the confines of the birdhouse.

"Archimedes, you and I are going to have a little chat later!" Merlin vowed angrily, shaking his fist.

The king cleared his throat.

Taking a deep breath, the wizard politely asked, "Now, what is it that you and your friends have come to see me about?"

"Merlin, these are Dr. Dawson and Mrs. Judson. They are from the world that was just destroyed."

The last word came out slightly choked even as he tried to keep his voice even.

Merlin gave him a sympathetic look but chose not to speak.

"A friend of theirs nearly had his heart stolen, but instead…" He pulled out the Summons gem. "I need to speak to the Fairy Godmother. Do you know where she is?"

The wizard huffed into his mustache. "Do I know where she is? She's _here._ You walked right past her when you came in the door. She lives over there by Knight Goofy's right foot."

Mickey turned just as Goofy looked down.

The knight knelt beside a tiny white pumpkin carriage. "Gawrsh. Must be cramped."

Donald rolled his eyes. "It's called 'magic,' Goofy. Maybe you've heard of it."

Merlin smiled at Dawson and Mrs. Judson. "Your friend will be just fine if only a little different." He then turned to Mickey. "Before you talk to her, I need to talk to you…in private."

The king followed Merlin to a spot on the floor where they ascended to the upper room often used for practicing spells, brewing potions, or experiments that Merlin liked to perform. Walking away from the spot, they stood in the center of the room.

"As you know, I can gaze into the future to see what will most likely happen in order to help kings and queens make the best decisions for their peoples. Of course, the future _can_ change based on the actions of people."

Mickey nodded, silently urging the wizard to continue.

"But your future is, strangely, split. I don't see one most likely future but _multiple_ futures with no real certainty among any of them. It makes me feel a little better that you don't ask me to do any scrying for you since I could never hope to give you a definite answer."

"What are you saying?"

"I'm saying that, I believe, that you may be one of destiny's wild cards. The Keyblade you hold is powerful but it's designed to let you choose either good or evil,[17] making you—to put it in mathematical terms—a random variable. Whatever you do could drastically change things."

It felt as if a new Keyblade was forged in the pit of Mickey's stomach, and that made him queasy.

"The last time I tried to see your future, there was one constant: Queen Minnie was on the throne. Yet the length of time she ruled varied. In some futures, she ruled for a few weeks. Others, a few months. Still others, a few years. In a few more, she ruled the rest of her life."

Mickey was silent for a few moments.

"King Mickey?"

"Thank you for telling me, Merlin. I needed to know." He gave the wizard a smile. "Now, I need to speak with the Fairy Godmother…"

"I need to tell you one more thing."

"Oh?"

"I also saw another Keyblade. It shouldn't be too long off from what I saw."

Mickey nodded. "From what the Keyblade keeps telling me, that sounds about right. Thank you, Merlin."

The wizard blinked and followed the king as he stepped onto the spot that lowered them to the first floor.

The mouse king walked over to the tiny carriage. _'Please let her be able to do something.'_ He cleared his throat. "Fairy Godmother, may I speak to you for a few minutes?"

The toy coach shimmered for a few moments before a kindly old woman appeared. "Now who is knocking on my door? Certainly can't be that old sourpuss Merlin," she giggled.

Mickey heard Merlin "harrumph" somewhere behind him.

"Oh, King Mickey! Your Majesty, I wasn't expecting you! Do forgive my manners."

Mickey bowed his head in respect. It would not do to anger someone as powerful as the Fairy Godmother. He had a little leeway with Merlin—the crusty old man liked it when someone showed a bit of spice every once and a while—but excellent manners and courtly charm were the best way to handle the woman. "There's nothing to forgive, my lady."

She smiled. "And how may I be of service to you?"

"A friend of mine is currently imprisoned in a Summons gem. Is there anything that you can do for him?"

"Oh, the poor dear!" Her voice and face showed nothing but sympathy. "Here, let me see it."

Obediently, he handed her the emerald gem, feeling a slight irrational loss as she took it.

Frowning, she gazed deeply into the king's eyes. "King Mickey, he isn't anchored to any world. What is his anchor?"

"The Keyblade anchors him. It…volunteered."

Attributing any sort of sentience to the weapon could be awkward since while it did possess its own mind, most people thought this odd. Not that Mickey himself had not thought so at first. But when your weapon occasionally talks to you in your head or occasionally takes over your body to get you to learn a new move or to see something it wants you to notice, you accept the fact that it _does_ have some sort of mind of its own. Fortunately, Merlin had never questioned this fact, and, apparently, neither would the Fairy Godmother.

"Very well. Bibbidi-Bobbidi-Boo!"

The Summons gem flashed. For an instant, there was a vision of Basil floating in a grey, misty space. He looked up and stared directly at them in surprise. Then, as suddenly as it had appeared, the vision passed.

The gem had vanished, yet Basil was not there.

"It's gone, and nothing happened!" Mrs. Judson shouted, angered and a bit despairing.

The Fairy Godmother turned to the mouse woman. "My dear, he's fine, but I've done all I can. A Summons can only be permanently restored to the mortal plane when his or her world is restored."

"But our world is gone forever," Dawson said mournfully, ears drooping.

"Yes. However, your friend can be called back to this plane by King Mickey." She glanced at the king.

He understood her glance. "Merlin, do you think we can all go upstairs, so I can summon him? It's a bit cramped down here."

"Certainly."

* * *

Something was going on. The feeling of Mickey lessened, and Basil felt somebody else, someone he did not know, vaguely. While this person sent kind feelings, he wanted the familiarity of Mickey back.

**'Now **_what's happening?'_

A woman's voice echoed in the vastness. "Bibbidi-Bobbidi-Boo!"

"What the devil?"

He had a sudden vision of the others in some sort of cramped round house with an old woman and an old man. He stared at them in surprise.

He was back. He was _back!_

Just as he was about to open his mouth to shout to them, the vision passed, and he realized that he had never left the Realm of the Summons.

He howled in frustration, "This is an absolute _nightmare!"_

After a few minutes of cursing in aggravation, he floated in the mists, allowing their healing abilities to soothe his aching vocal chords. As he floated, he realized that he could now sense others somewhere out in the mists. It was as if there had been a barrier between him and the others.

_'Whatever happened out there must have unlocked something. Strange but possibly useful in the future.'_

He could sense Mickey a little more keenly than before. He sensed determination with an underlying guilt.

_'It wasn't your fault, Mickey. You couldn't possibly hope to be everywhere at once.'_

He also sensed a lessened barrier between himself and the mortal plane. Perhaps it would not be long before he was walking on solid ground again.

* * *

Mickey stood in the center of the floor. Nobody really had any idea how the summoning spell would work since it was a little different for each Summons, so it was best to give him as much room as possible. "Everybody ready?"

The others nodded their assent.

Closing his eyes, he focused on his friend. _'Get ready, Basil. I hope the trip back here isn't too rude.'_ He summoned first the Keyblade and then began the spell. "Give me strength…Basil!"

Magic flowed along the Keyblade as it boosted the power required to pierce the barrier between the mortal plane and the Realm of the Summons. Naming Basil specifically and focusing on him helped since then the king would not catch any other prisoners of the Realm, desperate to escape, by mistake.

He felt the spell seek, ignoring other Summons that tried to let themselves be taken by the spell in order to leave. It was honing in on that one specific Summons that he the caster had requested.

In less than a second, it had found its target. The thread that anchored Basil to the Keyblade helped single him out among all of the others.

A hole opened between the two realms.

* * *

An itch in the back of his mind alerted Basil that escape might be sooner than he had expected. He whirled in the mists to see a thin beam of light zigzagging its way in his direction, seeming to be on a hunt.

"A summoning spell," he muttered to himself, relying on that strange bit of information he had learned from the Realm itself to identify the beam. "Who's it looking for?"

Apparently, he was its target. When it reached him, it opened a hole in the Realm.

Not hesitating for a second, Basil charged through the hole, finding a tunnel where his feet hit a substance that was not quite hard but not quite soft either. He raced down the tunnel towards the mortal plane.

* * *

A bead of light appeared to the right of the king which grew as it circled around Mickey three times, forming the shape of a mouse. The second time it approached Mickey's right, it skidded to a stop. The light vanished to reveal Basil of Baker Street, his tail swishing twice.

"Mr. Basil, you're all right!" Mrs. Judson sobbed as she raced over to him to grab him into a tight embrace.

Basil squeaked at her forcefulness before he smiled. "So it would seem." He gave a relieved smile to Dawson. "And I am _very_ glad that both you and Dawson are fine."

Dawson smiled back, walking over to place a hand of Basil's shoulder. "You gave us quite a scare, old boy."

"And I apologize for the fright." Basil turned to Mickey. "Thank you, Mickey."

"Don't thank me too much." _'I got you into this mess.'_ "I was just the delivery boy. You should really be thanking the Fairy Godmother."

"The what?" He turned his head to see the old woman and the old man. "Oh. Er, thank you, madam."

As much as he hated to admit it even privately to himself, Mickey got a perverse sort of pleasure out of watching Basil address what he had been taught was a character in fairy tales. _'And here you thought you'd seen it all. Yes, magic exists, and you've accepted that. But you didn't think you'd see a real fairy godmother, did you?'_

"A pleasure, young man. Of course you know that you are not what you were before. You _are_ a Summons, and, therefore, the Realm has changed you to fulfill that purpose," she told him firmly.

"Yes, ma'am." The detective nodded his head.

Merlin cheerfully said, "Well, why don't we take a look at what _has_ changed, hmm? It'd be quite interesting. I've read so much on the Realm and its inhabitants, but I've never seen one just after he's changed."

"Merlin, that's insensitive!"

"Nevertheless, he should learn as soon as possible. King Mickey will need him, and I think it's better that he learn in an environment where he can make as many mistakes as he likes without any harm coming to anybody."

The gathering of mice glanced at each other. Mickey, Dawson, and Mrs. Judson, swiftly growing used to this routine, sighed.

Basil, clearly feeling left out of the loop, queried, "Do they do this often?"

"Yes" was the bland answer.

Standing up as straight as possible—and secretly annoyed that most of the people in the room stood at least a good head taller than him—Mickey said, "I think it would be a good idea. Basil, do you mind?"

"Not at all. I'm a bit curious myself." Disentangling himself from Mrs. Judson, he glanced at Mickey. "What do I do?"

As Dawson led Mrs. Judson to the "safety zone," Mickey smirked as he strolled over there himself. "Break things."

* * *

The detective-turned-Summons tilted his head to one side. As Mrs. Judson could give testimony, he was a _master_ of breaking things. Yet that smirk suggested there was more to this than just aiming at a target and destroying it.

Maybe it was time to get worried.

A flash of light at the edge of the apparent danger zone caught Basil's eye.

"What's that for?" he demanded.

"To make sure nothing gets out. Including you," Mickey snickered.

Before he could retort, furniture and tableware that all seemed hell-bent on flattening him appeared in the room. A chair flew by his head, forcing him to duck.

Apparently, when Mickey said "break things," he left off the "before they break you."

_'Oh, I'm going to _**get **_him for that!'_

He ducked, rolled, and twisted. Even as he performed these evasive maneuvers, he realized that—even though he had not exactly been _slow_ before—he was performing them just a little bit _faster_ than before. His jumps were just that much _higher _and to be able to _flip _was definitely a thrill.

But an assault of dinner plates was definitely not.

Backed up into a corner, he felt a tingle in his hands that felt like a sparkle of electricity. Without thinking, he brought his hands up to feel a thunder spell lash out at the dinner plates. Over the course of fifteen minutes, there was a series of fire, ice, thunder, and one gravity spell. But it took a while for him to conjure the energy to perform them again once he ran out of steam.

"I think that's enough," Merlin said, ending the exercise.

Basil panted, muscles trembling with the effort.

Mickey applauded. "Nice. It seems like you have all the offensive spells but not the defensive ones. That could be a problem when it comes to protecting yourself."

"He actually doesn't have to protect himself, Mickey. Summons have to protect the people who summon them. If they fall, they merely return to the Realm of the Summons since they're immortal for as long as they are a Summons," Merlin explained.

Dawson looked at the wizard quizzically. "Basil is going to live forever?"

"Well, I'm not sure. Ordinarily, when his world was restored, he would be restored to his original state of being and therefore become mortal again without the powers the Realm gave him. But considering that his world is lost and his anchor is the Keyblade—"

"I'm still not going to live forever."

Everyone looked at Basil who was examining the floor.

"This sounds crazy, but the Keyblade actually talked to me when it bound me to it. It said that I was bound to it, and it was bound to Mickey, so we share his fate. I guess that means when he dies, not only does his Keyblade disappear—maybe even for good—but I die, too."

Mickey laid a hand on Basil's shoulder and gave him a crooked smile. "It doesn't sound crazy unless we're both nuts."

The Summons looked up at the king and smiled back.

On the tiny island in the middle of the spelled lake, silence reigned as high king.

* * *

Ansem mused in the darkness of Interspace. Due to his giving himself completely to Darkness, he required no ship to travel from world to world. But he did not travel now. He sat on an asteroid near the newly-formed warp hole, musing.

He had known the king had a Keyblade when he had first ventured out. He had seen the king locking the Keyhole of the servant princess's world when he had taken her. But he had not been too worried. The king had said during their first meeting that he had had no idea where the Keyblade was so the mouse had most likely not been too incredibly experienced.

Yet their encounter in the clock tower told him otherwise. There was a strength behind that blow that told him that the mouse king's ridiculous form was nothing to laugh at. Perhaps that form was meant to catch the unwary off-guard in the first place.

When had he received the Keyblade? After their little interview or before? It would give Ansem a better idea of what sort of force he was up against if he knew the amount of experience the rodent had wielding the weapon.

The wound still hurt even after all of those hours. It seemed like part of the mouse's revenge.

_"I'm warning you, Ansem. I will not rest until I've personally made sure that you're gone for good. And there will be nowhere in the universe you can hide from me."_

Such cold words. Ordinarily, he would have laughed them off, but not this time. This time he truly dreaded a second confrontation unless it was on a battlefield of his choosing.

Even though the Keyhole experiment was a success, Ansem knew that if he tried it again, the sudden void in the mouse's senses would bring him running. That was the last thing the man wanted at the moment. However, it would make excellent bait for a trap at some point, especially considering that the amount of energy that went into cloaking the Keyhole was almost equal to the amount of energy gained from the collapse of the Keyhole. He had not really gained much from his little experiment.

Though the rodent had his attention split between his duties as king and Keybearer, Ansem wondered how long it would be until he left his throne in pursuit. Would he wait until he had heirs? Or was he waiting for something else?

Whatever the reason, the master of the Heartless knew that he had to find the source of all Darkness: Kingdom Hearts. Then, no one, not even the mouse king, could stop him.

* * *

About two months had passed since the destruction of his world, and Basil thought that he and his friends had adjusted rather well to life in the Disney Castle. Mickey had appointed a grateful Dawson as Royal Physician since some royal guests were averse to visiting the healers and it took time to summon a conventional doctor from the village. The doctor spent portions of his free time studying the potions the healers brewed. To keep Mrs. Judson happily busy, the queen had taken the woman under her wing and let her take over as the housekeeper since the ladies-in-waiting or sometimes the queen herself had had to run the household themselves after their old housekeeper had left several months ago.

Basil himself had a constantly rotating schedule between bodyguard, detective (crime _did_ happen in the Magic Kingdom, apparently), warrior against the Heartless alongside the king, personal advisor to the king, and someone Mickey would talk to when he needed to. He spent more time outside of the Realm of the Summons than in it, to his relief, thanks to the discovery that he could renew the energy he used up on the mortal plane through eating, sleeping, and doing a little bit of "borrowing" from the excess magical energy floating around. Unfortunately, he seemed to have a real talent for annoying the queen by being a bit less than formal with the king most of the time.

Sitting in Mickey's private study—a massive room filled with a number of books which rivaled the castle's library—Basil played idly on his violin before the fireplace. Mickey himself was bent over yet another paper from a large stack before him.

"The sad part is that half of these things I don't really care about and neither does the rest of the kingdom," the mouse king muttered, closing his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose.

"Do they realize this?" Basil asked without stopping his violin.

"Probably not." The rustling of paper, and the scratching of a pen. "So they write to me requesting me to use my royal authority to do something."

"What's the problem this time?"

"Some guy's neighbor keeps parking his wagon _just_ over his property line. Stupid feud can't get resolved, so he wants the king to do something about it."

"That _is_ rather moronic."

"Tell me about it," Mickey yawned.

This time, Basil _did_ stop playing. "Mickey, get some sleep before you fall asleep at your desk and end up getting a crick in your tail."

"You sound like my mother."

"I am so certain that she sounded like I do."

They both locked eyes for a moment.

"Well, she always bugged me about going to sleep. Maybe she didn't say anything about getting a crick in my tail."

"And you _should_ get some sleep. A tired king doesn't get anything done."

"What about you?"

"Go to sleep, and I will."

The king sighed. "Fine, but I think I'll just take the couch. No sense in waking up Minnie. You going to take the other?"

Two couches faced each other on opposite sides of the fireplace. Both were large enough to accommodate Knight Goofy lying down.

Basil paused, considering. He found it strangely tempting. Pushing the thought aside, he shook his head. "No, I think I'll retreat to the Realm for tonight. I doubt anybody's going to sneak in here with all of the wards on the place."

"All right." Mickey walked over to the couch opposite Basil, grabbing a throw pillow and tossing it against the arm closest to the fireplace. He seized one of the blankets that had been folded and draped across the back of the couch, unfolding it swiftly. Clearly, this was an old routine. Lying down and covering himself with the blanket, he requested, "Would you please play something before you leave? I love it when you play."

Flattered, Basil placed the violin under his chin and raised his bow. "Any requests?"

"Something that you don't hear at a royal ball."

So as the king closed his eyes, Basil played slowly and softly, aiming to ease his old friend to sleep. For several long minutes, the voice of the violin permeated the room, weaving a magic-less spell of slumber.

Apparently it worked, for Mickey was sleeping deeply by the end. The blanket had slipped off a little due to some initial tossing and turning, but now the sleeper rested peacefully.

Basil automatically packed away his violin in its case before leaning forward to gently replace the blanket in its proper spot.

"You are bound to me, and I am bound to him. His fate is ours," the Keyblade had said.

_'Even if I wasn't bound to him, I still wouldn't let him go alone on the journey he means to take,'_ Basil thought, studying his friend.

His hand subconsciously smoothed the blanket one last time before he sent himself back to the Realm.

The Journey continues in "King's Exile…"

* * *

[1] I am assuming that the gummi ship is equipped with a sort of transportation device so that it will not need to be landed and hidden. After all, that can get a bit messy if the ship is discovered by accident.

[2] No one, not even Sherlock Holmes, knows exactly what Mycroft Holmes, the basis for Myerricroft Basil, did in the British government. We only know that his position was created for him and "never to be seen again." ("Greek Interpreter")

[3] I am assuming that this is the name of Mickey's kingdom which he rules from Disney Castle. (What is the name of the kingdom that the castle is located in? Does anybody really know?)

[4] Professor James Moriarty was a professor of mathematics and physics before turning to crime. Perhaps this had been the profession of his rodent counterpart. Maybe Ratigan had even been one of Basil's own teachers.

[5] Who knows what major Basil graduated with? Did he even graduate with a criminology major, or did he just randomly pick a major and tack on a bunch of extra courses?

[6] Mickey is, of course, referring to the fact he has no younger siblings. The next oldest child would have been the heir in case he died; therefore, any other child would have been a "spare."

[7] While this may seem a bit strange, I tried to think of how a mouse might have a different fighting style than you or I. I realized that a tail like that might be used like a whip if you used it right.

[8] In the Eve Titus canon, Basil mentions that he has a sister named "Brynna" though whether this sister is older or younger is under debate. For my purposes, I always assume she is older.

[9] "Squire" was the step before "Knight" in medieval times.

[10] In my own twisted universe, Basil's mother (whom I named "Amelia") died of illness.

[11] If you take a close look at the Door to the Light, at the very top, there is a familiar silhouette in gold. Why would Mickey's head be seen on the Door?

[12] This is, of course, referring to the Hound of the Baskervilles.

[13] This is referencing "A Scandal in Bohemia."

[14] Watson's old service revolver, which was mentioned in "The Adventure of the Speckled Band." Holmes—in the Granada series—even mentions it by name: "An Eley's No. 2 is an excellent argument against gentlemen who can twist steel pokers into knots."

[15] In _A Study in Scarlet_, Holmes compares the brain to an attic that should be stocked with useful knowledge rather than random bits of information considering that an attic has limited space.

[16] A reference to _The Great Mouse Detective_.

[17] Studying the Keyblades showed me something interesting: Mickey's Keyblade seems to be the strongest of them all with the ability to destroy two Darksides without making Mickey try that hard. Meanwhile, the dark Keyblade formed from the princesses' hearts could fight and had the power to remove hearts, and Sora's Keyblade has the power to change its strengths and weaknesses with different key chains. However, both Keyblades had to strike a few times before they did serious damage. Plus the colors seem to suggest a sort of alliance with either Light or Darkness. The dark Keyblade is black and, as we know, evil. Sora's basic Keyblade is a light silver (or white) and is used on the side of Light. Mickey's Keyblade, though he uses it for good, is gold which is neither black nor white. In a sense, it is in that grey area between good and evil.


End file.
